Nightingale's Strain Book Two of the Nightingale's Odyssey
by Shadowcrest Nightingale
Summary: 1891, On the verge of opening the pinnacle of the arts, Carnegie's grand Music Hall, the hidden genius behind the project is swept up in a tidal wave from his past. Ten years was not enough to bury Erik's obsession. The famed Music Hall's grand opening holds a secret drama wrought with deception, passion, and murder. And danger to Erik. Historical Fiction based on Leroux/Kay.
1. Chapter 1

_**Nightingale's Strain**_

 _ **Chapter 1**_

 _ **Manhattan**_

 _ **~1891~**_

People often profess a need to kill their conscience. For me to do so would require an act of murder. When that nagging voice, that for most exists inside their heads, grew entirely too burdensome for me, I had the luxury of sending my conscience on business trips with ulterior motives.

Fortunately, mine had just returned.

"Good travels, Nadir?" The Persian entered my study. Even with my back to him on my second story balcony, I knew he had not yet seen me. His shoes clacked across the floor and faltered to silence. It could only be him. I had strictly banished the servants from my private rooms. Only Nadir was permitted to the whole of my mansion. I owed this man too much. _He_ was my grudging conscience.

"Erik?" The alarm in his voice was unguarded. "I thought you might be sleeping at this late hour."

Indeed, the sun had set below the broken jawline of the city hours ago. "My friend, your puerile efforts to sneak up on me after all these years are truly charming in their entirely unavailing fashion."

A slight laugh escaped him. "The way you can sense things, you must have eyes in the back of your head."

"Nonsense. People are just noisy oafs," I remarked with a wave of dismissal. "Did you secure the contracts?"

The shuffle of papers hitting the mahogany desktop answered my query. A weary sigh escaped him. The man was slightly older than I. However, in our past together I had inadvertently ignited a great love of travel in him. Despite his advancing years, he seemed ever eager to experience a new part of the world.

"Indeed, Erik. I was left to chase after many a signature, but my efforts were at last rewarded. Was all this essential?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do wi … " Words abandoned him as I turned from the outside world to face him. He respectfully cast his eyes down. Only when a stiff breeze caressed my naked face did I realize that my mask lay on the desk. Left to my own devices for some time, I had taken the liberty of going unmasked within the sanctuary of the upper floors of my home. A few steps carried me back inside to the edge of my desk buried in the throes of my creations. Sheet after sheet of architectural drawings haphazardly flung about. My right hand collected the shield of my dignity. A nervous tremor struck his voice as he tried to cover for the embarrassment. "… I am sorry Erik. You'd been so upset about the footman trespassing here before I left, I was not expecting you without the mask."

"Enough of that. I dealt with the transgression accordingly. Save your pity and wipe that expression from your face before I do it for you." An edge of old acid clung to the words despite my vain efforts to quell it.

A lifetime of being reviled for my facial deformity had led me down some dark and unwanted paths. I understood human nature sufficiently by now to accept social reaction was ungovernable by any form of logic. In truth, it was as uncontrollable as my temper was known to be. Somehow, knowing this did not make such situations any easier. Even after six years my staff remained unaware of what lay beneath the mask. I remained diligent in my efforts to keep it so.

Nadir swallowed and glanced away, clearly scrambling for some safe topic of discussion. We were both well aware that, though the years had blunted the edge from my temper, it was still lurking in the dark waters of my undeniable past.

His gaze wandered around my study which was never known to be neat and organized. The gas wall sconces and candles I preferred to the garish burn of new electrical lights lit the shelves of my unkempt workroom which overflowed with a vast array of my compositions and tinkering. The notes of musical strains carefully penned upon vellum draped over the mechanical devices created by my idle hands. Chaos was a perpetual side-effect of my existence. I slid from one project to the next, my attentions often simultaneously employed in more than one art form at a time. Which was precisely how one of my automatons-in-process had wound up in pieces spread across the top of the Steinway piano.

Years ago, when this grand piano was delivered, I had disassembled the second story wall to lift the instrument in via a crane. The stonework had slid back into place masterfully enough and the newer mortar was hidden by a tasteful cut of Merlot-hued curtains. As with the rest of my household, there were no mirrors within this room. Before the great hearth, various musical scores remained scattered upon the black leather sofa. These were the remnants leftover from my task weeks ago to assist in the selections for the opening gala.

At last Nadir's eyes settled onto the drafts. The moment he found his safe conversation written upon his olive-toned features. "How is the Music Hall coming along these past weeks?"

Welcoming the inquiry with a relieved smile, I returned to the balcony railing and turned my eyes toward the future. Just within my gaze dwelt the corner of my legacy to the world. No glance over my shoulder at the plans was required to witness her promised splendor. By now the structure was nearly complete, the ornate stone facade a beloved tribute to all the beauty of the old world spirit I had left behind. Every nuance from my architectural studies of Europe and Asia were captured in those walls. And the acoustics, oh the acoustics! A shiver ran up my spine anew just as it had when first I had drawn my gift to the new world. America had been a new canvas, a new place yet to find a unique voice. How could I resist the urge to gift it with a temple to experience every nuance of the grandest art known to man—music.

The truth was, I couldn't.

This distraction was why I kept him around, my precious friend Nadir. Time had taught him how to navigate the treacherous labyrinth of my moods and turn them a-right.

He would not be alive now if he had failed to learn. "On schedule, Nadir. So much simpler than Garnier's Parisian masterwork. A year, only one year. I had hardly conceived such a timeline given the years it took to construct in Paris. Honestly, without the complication of a bloody revolution, it has been entirely too simple from the groundbreaking up."

Returning the smile, he relaxed. "Then the grand opening is also on schedule?"

My answer was a simple nod.

"Fantastic. How many nights of music do they have planned?"

"Five. Five days with a culmination of six concerts worth of glorious music rising to the heights in the acoustical genius of my Music Hall. Those attending will be immersed in a spectacle only previously known in Europe's grand halls. And in truth, not even there!"

One eyebrow rose ever so slightly. "Then … " he began tentatively, "whatever is wrong?"

I cocked my head to the side, and my eyebrows brushed the back of the mask in my surprise. "Wrong? What brings you to such a suspicion, dear Daroga?"

A scowl abolished his previously intrigued expression. "I told you, stop calling me that."

At one time the word had been his title in Persia, a position of honor—or royal abuse, depending upon the whim of the court. In my years serving in Persia, the poor man had most certainly undergone an abundance of the latter.

"And I told you never to play games with the master," I quipped. "Now answer the question, you suspicious old goat!"

Pointing to my left hand he observed. "It's the only time you have your magician's orbs out, when something is bothering you and you're trying in vain not to think about it."

Indeed, he was right! How long had my fingers been tossing the three crystal balls into a tireless array of patterns? By the tension in my left arm it had been some hours since I had subconsciously taken up the activity.

"You know me too well." I sighed, and forced my hand to still. I returned the balls to their place in a silk lined box on the desk. The sensation of trembling that followed was almost intolerable. Or was it the uncomfortable silence as I slowly drifted my gaze from him, contemplating refuge in some safe corner of the contents of my new life?

Inexplicably, my eyes were drawn to the Stradivarius I had cast aside last night after assaulting the fine instrument in an impotent fit of rage. So furious had I been with the bow that not one, but several of the strings had been savagely rent in twain. Every string would require replacement in the aftermath of that unsuccessful session. The grand piano in my study simply wasn't enough; I longed to have my pipe organ once more. A session of pounding on those keys always seemed to ease my tortured soul. I had yet to use my clever tricks to devise a method to install one in my home. Thus far I had always drawn the conclusion that the structure was entirely unsound for such a grand instrument. Of course, I had not spared sufficient time on the dilemma, so oft distracted by my various projects. Only recently did I gain the promised access to a pipe organ. Though not my personal property, the Music Hall had installed one in the main auditorium. I had yet to hear her as there always seemed to be activity in the auditorium. My gaze returned to the aged figure before me who waited stoically for my reply. The same ploy he had successfully used utterly failed me. There was nothing I could dredge up that would convince Nadir all was well.

"Erik. Answer me." The demand was more aptly administered to a child than a silver-haired man of my assumed age. However, I could never overlook just how much I owed him. The man who on more than one occasion sacrificed everything to help the ungrateful wretch that I am.

I tried to conjure up something, but the words would not come. How could I tell him? My arid mouth opened and closed wordlessly. I could not even glance in his direction.

The silence stretched for eons, so it seemed, before he inhaled sharply to the rasp of a single sheet of paper across the desk. I remained still.

"No … Erik no." His hushed voice held a chill, one born of dread. "Tell me you had nothing to do with this!"

There would have been no hiding it. His nosy nature would have uncovered that list eventually. A tremble stole through me, one I failed to suppress as my hands came up in slow motion to catch my falling forehead. "Nadir … " Damn that tremble! There was no way it was undetectable. "I swear to you I had no knowledge of this. No influence … "

"Not again!" Desperation clawed at his voice as he flashed the paper in the air. "You swore to me never again!"

"I did not arrange this!" I felt a surge of anger begin to build. I unburied my face and glared directly into his eyes.

He shook his head. "Of all the singers in this world—"

"Why her?" I finished for him, slamming my fist on the desk. "It was not my doing. I was not even consulted! My attention had been fixated on finishing the structure on time! Ask the crew what a relentless task master I have been!"

His shoulders fell as he tossed the paper aside. "Now I see it. The plague hiding in your eyes. You did not just learn this, Erik. How long have you known?"

I dropped into my chair. At least now I would not bear this weight alone. "That the ghost of my past was coming back to haunt me?" The jest had fallen abysmally short at my attempt of mirth to cover my raw emotions. I let my eyes rise to the ceiling to study the fine gold leafed moldings with little interest. "Three days ago."

"Three days? Have you eaten? Slept?" Unbridled concern dwelt in his words.

I tried to smile, but knew it was merely a flicker of one. All I could muster. "No. Not since I learned Christine was to sing here … "

"Dear Allah. For three days you have not slept nor eaten?" He crossed the room in short purposeful strides and placed his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. He clipped every word. "She thinks you dead. You _must_ remain so, Erik! For your own sake and hers. Remember, we both agreed it was for the best."

"I know." It had been but a timid whisper. "I know, Nadir. Yet, how can I stand in the wings and hear my greatest creation without revealing I am witness?"

Sorrow bore into me from his eyes. "You will have to find a way. She must not know we both deceived her that night on the shores of the underground lake. It has been ten years, Erik. Ten years! We agreed that leaving her with Raoul was better for the poor girl." Beneath his hands I stiffened, the anger threatening to build once more. My jaw tightened but not as much as Nadir's grip on me. He narrowed his eyes and stated firmly, "She was never yours."

Willpower can only hold back the dark waters of the past for so long, I fought desperately to quench the fire that threatened once more to consume me.

A war I could never have hoped to win.

Nadir knew enough to release his hands and step back. I trusted he had felt the muscles in my shoulders tense like a cat coiled for the spring, right before I exploded out of the chair like a raving lunatic. "Never mine? Her heart always belonged to me! She did not love that insolent fool, Raoul!" Even now, after all these years, I could not utter that arrogant prick's name without a sneer. "I should have killed him when I had the chance! How could I have let you talk me into abandoning her to his care? You and your insufferable bleeding heart!"

He waited only for me to steal a breath before interjecting calmly. "Because for a moment in your life you were rational enough to see that her adoration for you was destroying her."

I stood there, mouth hanging open with words once more failing me. I trembled with the rage I still felt, even though I knew he recalled the night in question correctly. I had consented to the entire plan to let her believe I had died. Even to the point of instructing Nadir in the proper dose to reverse the effects of my morbid illusion. Let her move on without guilt over her feelings, make it clean.

"It's been ten years, Erik. How much time do you need to dull the edge of that knife?"

"How long has it been since I helped your son Reza to his grave?" I snarled before I was able to rein in my temper. "Has time dulled that pain? At least yours is truly dead and gone! Christine Daae still lives!" I realized far too late that I had gone too far.

Nadir's eyes closed tightly in visible anguish. The verbal knife had been cast, my skill at naturally harming others once more executed in reckless abandon.

Why had I said that to him? The silence in the room was only broken by his ragged breathing, a man on the verge of tears. Decades ago I had held his ailing son in my arms. It had been my hand that stilled his final breath and spared the child the lingering anguish of his disease. Dignity I left for him fully intact. I was truly the Angel of Death back then. Reza's was the only passing I could attribute to kindness.

A silent tear rolled down his cheek before he turned from me, his head dropping to his chest. "Daroga … " I uttered softly, trying to mend my careless mistake.

"Don't call me that." The reply was soft, shadowed with bitter pain. "It is because of you that my life in Persia ended, or have you forgotten what I did for you?" He took a few shaky breaths before continuing, piling on due shame to my already epic blunder. "I sacrificed everything I had and spent years in prison for _losing_ you on the road. I swore by letting you escape certain execution I was preserving a genius of such scale it would have been a shame to destroy. And yet you dare to throw at my face how you murdered my son. I had hoped you had grown beyond such immature slights by now, beyond the selfish boy I once followed around Persia like a well-trained dog."

He flinched as I laid a hand on his shoulder. Age had taken none of my abilities to move with complete silence. Usually, I performed this little trick as a game. However today there was no premeditation, no motive. Moving silently was simply something I did naturally. "You cannot fathom how much I long to unspeak those words, my friend. You know my temper and I fear that my exhaustion has brought us to this folly. Please, accept my apology." I bowed my head finding it difficult to utter the next words, "Please help me find a way through this situation … three days of my ceaseless plotting has produced no viable solutions."

The nod was almost imperceptible as I withdrew my hand from him.

"Thank you, old friend. I knew you would not abandon me." With a weary sigh, I sank back into the chair.

Nadir remained still for some time, recollecting himself before he crossed the room to pour himself a drink from the decanter of whiskey, his vice. The vice I had driven him to over the years despite his former religious devotions, which strictly forbid the consumption of alcohol except under certain conditions. I had been a bad influence; under my constant grating I had worn those conditions down to include a daily ration to calm his ragged nerves.

Just as I had my vice, so he had his.

His eyes locked onto the violin before he took a stiff swallow. "Erik, did you do that intentionally?"

I shrugged, attempting to shed the tension still contained from my latest surrender to my primal rage. "Yes and no. I hardly intended to be so harsh when I picked her up." I pondered the previous train of thought. "Tell me, Nadir, how do you think a pipe organ would look downstairs? I would of course need to remove a good deal of the existing music room. And the fireplace might require relocating. The larger pipes require venting up here on this floor, but that remedy is simple enough by placement of a hole in the floor … what?"

Had I gone completely mad he may have stood there in a similar fashion as he did now; drink in frozen hand, posture rigid, expression of one completely astounded. "A pipe organ?" He blinked and let the silence extend between us. "A pipe organ next to my room? You cannot be serious. Have you lost your mind?"

"No. That is right here where it belongs." I gestured idly to my head. "And, I will have you know, I have been contemplating the addition for some time. How much I miss the one in my old home beneath the opera house. Of course the sounds would never be as rich as they were in the echo chamber of the underground lake. There is simply no recreating that, not even the Music Hall can accomplish that effect." With one hand I issued a dismissive wave. "The organ itself would nest in the inner walls of this sanctuary quite nicely with a little work."

Downing his drink in one gulp, he immediately refilled the glass with a more generous portion. "Now, _this_ is what I am used to. The conversations that twist and turn at such a rapid pace as to be untraceable. I will never be able to figure out precisely how your mind bridges the unspoken gaps."

"Best not to even attempt such an improbable feat. Sometimes … " would it reveal too much? Not to the man who knew me better than anyone on this earth. " … it is like the dance of a flame. If you hold a substance close enough to be touched by the light you risk burning it. A brief glimpse may be all we can afford before dashing back into the safety of the shadows."

"You truly are at a loss of what to do."

I could only nod. Would I be able to resist seeing and hearing her once more? I could not possibly avoid the grand opening of the new Music Hall. I had to be there, at least in spirit. This time I had been compelled to do things right. I longed to stand in the illumination of the stage lights and bask in the glory as one of the contributors. But my heart warned me I demanded far too much of my own delicate willpower. Was it a gamble I would risk? Would I truly be capable of leaving well enough alone?

"How long before she arrives?" He asked gently, swirling the glass in thought.

"Rehearsals are set to begin tomorrow. She is scheduled to arrive in the morning direct from France." Idly my fingers ventured to an ornately carved box. Opening the lid, I removed the ivory pipe and prepared the sweet opium that had brought me some relief these past days.

In observance of my actions Nadir frowned. "How much have you been smoking lately?"

"Not enough." Lighting the pipe from my candle, I inhaled deeply. The tension ebbed; a wash of deceptive euphoria coated my raw nerves. "I have not even indulged enough to have had a proper sleep."

"Take care, Erik. You need your wits about you," he warned.

Laughter escaped me regardless of my futile efforts to suppress it. A false sense of well-being wrapped me in a blissful blanket as I lay back in the chair. It didn't matter that I knew the effects were all a shameful facade, a temporary escape from the ticking trap that once more threatened my world. I needed this, and although I would never admit it, I appreciated the company watching over me.

"You should have eaten something. Gotten some sleep first."

I clicked my tongue and smirked lopsidedly. "Oh Daroga, shall I fetch you an apron? If you truly insist upon acting as my nursemaid you really should dress for the part."

Placing the now empty glass beside the decanter, Nadir shook his head and tried to hide the smile that betrayed his scarcely concealed amusement. "I need to unpack while you indulge yourself. My friend, please try to get some sleep. We will talk in the morning of how to handle the grand opening."

"Grand opening of a grand house." I giggled. If there was but one way to kill my damnable pride truly the breath of the dragon was capable of it. "Nadir … you like magic tricks. Watch." Suddenly one of the orbs appeared in my hand from a puff of sweet smoke. "Oh look … I am quite upside down."

An amused smile spread across his face. "Erik. Get some rest."

"Ahh … there is my old friend." I grinned into the surface of the orb, my distorted reflection grinned back upside down. "Phantom of the Opera. Hehe! Now you see him … now you do not."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

"It is elegant in its simplicity, Carnegie. You truly have outdone yourself in this endeavor." The aristocratic voice echoed throughout the vast expanse of the main auditorium. By its resonance, I could have been standing in the middle of the auditorium beside them, instead of buried back in the wing behind the full wall. I had been diligently working on all that was needed to be organized before the opening gala. The group in attendance with Andrew Carnegie had arrived over an hour ago, touring the Music Hall that was publicly known to be his. Carnegie had been beaming with pride as he showed off the nearly completed building, roving from room to room of the six story stone structure to at last end in the opulent main hall.

One could only imagine the wonder in their eyes as they beheld the first glimpse of the interior, and gazed up into the vaulted foyer. Marble arches of various colors with open floors permitted the elite access to their boxes to gaze down upon the other attendants. Below the main auditorium resided the smaller more intimate recital hall. However, I favored the smallest of the three, the chamber music hall bedecked in deep blue velvet seats and draperies. Amidst the delicate cream and gold leafed moldings, a series of chandeliers were to be wired and hung, lending the hall an elegance reminiscent of a ballroom. Tucked neatly into the hallways surrounding the grand interior hall, was a series of rooms for designated everything from warm-up, to dressing, to offices, to storage, with even a few larger rooms for the purpose of public meetings.

Carnegie's vision had been to utilize this space completely, every last stone of it. The style he had selected was rather reminiscent of the Italian architecture. It seemed a grand stroke of fate that I had been apprenticed to a master stone mason in Rome. I had ensured this little detail did not escape his notice when I began drafting the building in front of him in our very first meeting.

At this very moment, we basked in the crown jewel of this gift to New York's culture. The main auditorium spanned to the rim of the electric lights that studded the ceiling mimicking the stars in heaven. Each of the four levels floating above the parquet had been painstakingly bedecked with hand-worked gold leaf filigree artfully arranged on the columns and along each box. This coordinated with the elegant moldings that framed the high solid arch surrounding the stage to form a protective shell for the music that would soon soar to the heavens. Waiting for the patrons, over two-thousand red velvet chairs lined the auditorium in rich contrast to the cream walls.

As with all the elite in society, gossip thread its way unsurprisingly into the conversations of the couples in attendance.

"Indeed, this place is too much for a single fortune."

Carnegie's gentle laughter echoed across the space. "You are correct. It took the contributions of two fortunes."

"Two? I did not know that Tuthill had amassed that much. A cellist really gets paid that well?"

"Not even I get paid that well." Laughter colored the reply from Walter Damrosch, the conductor of the Oratorio and Symphony Societies of New York.

It was he and Carnegie who, four years ago on a trans-Atlantic cruise, began this dream to bring about a better hall for the fine culture of music. Two years later Carnegie, founded the Music Hall Company of New York, of which I became a member the moment I learned of it's existence and the goal they aimed to achieve. It took a little convincing to buy my quiet partnership. But a few demonstrations sketched from memory of the grand halls across Europe—of which they wished to emulate—proved too much a valuable resource to discard. Revealing that I had been a master stone mason contracted at the Paris Opera had sealed the deal along with a generous offer to aid in silently funding the project. For all this, Carnegie and Tuthill politely overlooked my strange quirks. From the moment the cornerstone was laid, in the spring of 1890, they never seemed to regret their decision.

"A second fortune was involved? Vanderbilt? Rockefeller?"

"No. An astonishingly talented man stepped forward and offered to assist." Carnegie drifted toward the stage, the sound of the others steps carried through the empty hall. "Not only did he offer funding but first hand expertise on the European halls themselves. Many of the fine details you see are his unique touches. Tuthill has been quietly sharing the work of directing and, more often than not, nodding to his wise counsel."

"Who is this man?" A young woman's voice broke through.

"He is known as Erik."

A long pause. Clearly they were waiting for a last name that would never come. Many times it had occurred to me that I should simply come up with one to use. Just as often, I had concluded there was no point. I was who I was. And I belonged to no family.

"Erik who?"

Damrosch spoke up. "Erik. That is all he has ever gone by. It is what he signs his drafts and all his paperwork with. Including his contract to build this hall."

"How odd."

They were nearing the stage now with its entire compliment of new electrical lighting fixtures. It was deemed the newer electrical lighting was safer, though I noted the hues tended to be a little garish for my personal taste. Despite the heat, I had preferred the ambiance of gas lighting. Call me old fashioned.

"You should meet him sometime." Carnegie replied. "He is a very fascinating man of the world. In conversations with him over the years, I have lost track of how many languages his has slipped in and out of, fluently speaking each one. The countries he has seen and the architectural secrets he can recall at the drop of a hat are simply astonishing."

"Is he around?"

With a chuckle, Damrosch remarked. "He is undoubtedly around here somewhere. Rumor has it that he has hardly left the site since the cornerstone was laid."

"Will the finishing touches be in place on time? The festival is scheduled to begin on May 5th, is it not?"

"I have been assured that everything will be finished ahead of schedule and the Music Hall will be ready to show New York what it has never experienced before."

"This is a disaster!" Ahh that voice belonged to none other than William Tuthill. Echoing from the door at the rear of the hall, his frantic footsteps carried toward the stage where I knew the others were gathered. "Carnegie! Damrosch! Please tell me one of you has seen Erik?"

"Not today. Tuthill, whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing that cannot be overcome—I hope!" A nervous pause stretched out before he continued. "There is a problem with the lighting. The entire rigging in the chamber music hall is misaligned. The chandelier's aren't fitting properly at all."

"Surely that cannot be the case!" Damrosch barked rather seriously. "How did that happen?"

Carnegie chuckled, "I'm sure the lighting can be fixed."

"Of course it can." From behind the wing I strode across the stage before dropping down unannounced beside the startled group. Rolled in my hand was the paper that bore Tuthill's salvation.

"Erik, thank God you're here!" He began. "The li—"

"I know." I began unrolling the sheet with the new plans and stretched it over the backs of the chairs for them to see.

Damrosch flipped his pocket watch open and closed. "Gentlemen, just fix it. If you will excuse me, I have a prior engagement." Without another word, the young conductor bowed out.

A quick glance afforded me the knowledge that I was indeed in the company of a few well-to-do couples who had been the voices I had eavesdropped on. In this age in America, it was customary to flaunt money through one's attire. I daresay it was a European custom that had remained undimmed by the vast track of ocean. Before me stood old money, inherited money. It seemed I was not the picture they had anticipated. Any number of factors could have been the case, the white mask only the most evident. All of these observations I had collected over the experiences of my life. Being notably taller than most men afforded me a rather domineering presence. Secondly, I was also rather thin and deceptively lightly built for being employed as a highly sought after master stone mason. Thirdly, I was always dressed as though attending an opera myself, woolen tail coat and all. At least it was a fresh clean one and not the same suit I had woken in this morning. To this moment I did not recall how I ever managed to reach my bed the night before. Though I can say that the songbird that briefly alighted upon my windowsill at the crack of dawn had a grander surprise at the imported crystal vase from my nightstand which greeted the third note of his song. Such a shame. That had been a very nice vase that lay shattered over the tiny avian corpse on the street below the balcony. On my way to the Music Hall I had retrieved the simple white long stemmed rose which had previously occupied the vase. It currently resided in a less elegant vase on a desk in the stage wing.

A curious pair of eyes studied my right hand as the gentleman leaned closer. I highly doubted it was my hand that so much drew his attention as the silver signet ring riding on the ring-finger. I had commissioned one of the best silversmiths in town to capture my design shortly after I had established Shadowcrest Industries. Within less than a year this official seal upon my drafts and contracts had become highly recognized. My only initial comprised the central part of the design, an elaborately sweeping E. Set slightly off center to the right, was an architect's compass standing upon its acutely spaced limbs reached toward the foreground of the design. Embraced in the lower right curve of my initial, rested the tip of a feather quill leaning back towards the left, a symbol of both architecture and my music. I had never guessed when first I set chisel to stone upon this new world, that I would one day build a temple of music. How fitting.

"Hold on." The gentleman reached out a tentative hand toward the ring. "I know that design! Yes yes, Shadowcrest Industries! You must be the architect that worked for the Hollisters two years ago."

Shifting my hand away from his reaching grasp, I threw him a stiff glare through the mask which dashed him into silence before turning my attention to those I had actually chosen to associate with.

Tuthill's eyes roved over the plans as the rest of the group stole peeks around our shoulders. "When did you do this?"

"Five weeks ago." I replied flippantly. "I anticipated that there might be some alignment issues with the suggested method of laying the wire tracks. Though the degree of offset you report is more severe than I had expected, this alteration should fix the problem regardless."

He studied them even more closely, looking over the precisely penned measurements. "How you can predict these problems is beyond me, Erik. You must have a sixth sense."

Folding my arms across my chest, I sighed wearily, "When you have been around these types of buildings long enough you learn to draft for almost any occasion. Truly, Tuthill, I have not afforded you a glance at my desk at home. For every one draft you have laid eyes on there are at least four variations in existence."

"How long should this refit take?" His eyes glanced up at me in concern.

As I parsed through the numbers in my head, Carnegie's attention was stolen by another little detail. A messenger pulled him aside. Nothing unusual in these days. It seemed no less than a half hour would pass before an intrusion on one of us. "Depending upon the crew you can spare, if they work through the night, the angles should be amended by tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest. Might I suggest someone from my crew."

My eyes roved over the careful plans. Some worker would not be thrilled with the task of removing, rewiring, and rehanging the entire chandelier. I could only hope no one had bothered to perform the tedious task of stringing the glass work yet. It mattered not his feelings, the refit was an essential requirement. Who would be best for this task?

"Erik." Carnegie's voice intruded my thoughts. "I realize you are a busy man. However, the rehearsals are set to begin this afternoon and we find ourselves without an accompanist as Lloyd has fallen ill. I have heard rumor that you played for a time, would you be so kind as to fill in?"

Much of the crew was occupied with projects, and electric lighting was still new which afforded me with few men who had experience to work with it. Who could I spare? I didn't look away from the drafts. "Of course, Carnegie. Allow me a chance to brief the crew of the alterations so they may begin and I will make myself available at the grand piano." An afternoon of hearing the resounding notes of that brand new Steinway gracing the center of the hall's nearly empty stage was something I could not dismiss. Since the instrument arrived yesterday, I had longed to just strike one key. What was the name of that man who assisted in rigging the lights before? Ah yes! "Tuthill, go fetch Herman to the recital hall. He is familiar with how the lights are currently rigged and should be able to make the essential adjustments quickly."

"My gratitude, Erik." Carnegie executed a half bow as Tuthill dashed off. "I am convinced that without you, this project would have fallen hopelessly behind schedule."

Snatching the plans and rolling them back up, I offered an earnest shrug. "It has truly been my pleasure, Carnegie. I myself am convinced we are all equally eager to witness the glorious performances that this stage will draw here. Was not the goal to render the Music Hall the pinnacle of stages for all performers worldwide? When we are through, that is precisely what we shall have here. No hall in America will surpass the acoustic genius of this chamber of resonance."

All this time Carnegie's company had stood in a tense silence. Their eyes searched to root out the reason for which I wore my mask. The unasked question is one I would not answer; even had it been asked. There were moments where I would inevitably regret living amongst humanity. Moments like these, with their uncomfortable stares, are at the forefront.

As the silence continued I held up the plans. "If you will excuse me. If I am to fulfill my promise, I need to relay these instructions in person. I hope you do not find me rude in rushing off and abandoning you with your guests."

"Don't trouble yourself with such a concern, Erik. Once again, my gratitude for everything you have invested here! I will have the rehearsal roster placed on the piano for you. The first is at one o'clock."

With half a bow, I turned on my heel and strode up the hall. A glance at my pocket watch which informed me I had a little over two hours before I was needed on stage.

* * *

My two o'clock did not show up, blessedly having left me entirely alone while other work commenced in the rest of the hall's vast structure. I had spent the majority of that hour intermittently pacing the stage and staring at the next name on the list … my three o'clock. The integrity of my pocket watch's hinges was tested as I snapped the casing open and closed. All I could do was watch the minutes tick by with a growing sense of trepidation. Why had I promised Carnegie I would do this? How could I have neglected to remember … my eyes darted to the list. Christine Daae was next. Simply reading the name was enough to reproduce the full wave of dread I had experienced when I first learned she had been invited to this stage. I had only one idea of how I might be able to escape this interlude. However, I didn't really wish to poison myself sufficiently enough to be convincing. My watch told me it was fifty-three minutes past the hour.

With a timorous sigh, I stood up from the piano bench and silently vanished into the concealment of a dark corner back in the stage right wing. My eyes fixed on the ray of light that pierced the gap in the wing's solid double door. Inside my chest I felt the thrum of panic building. I wasn't ready to endure this! I wasn't prepared to explain. I wasn't braced enough to resist. Leaning my back against the wall, I slid down to sit upon the floor, bound and chained by despair. What was I going to do?

A door opened followed, by the signature sharp intake of breath, the sound of one who had glimpsed the interior for the first time. Though the vision was not my own, the reaction hit me like a knife to the chest. I couldn't breathe.

"It's so elegant!" That voice … it was that voice. The one that long ago coaxed a loathsome beast from utter solitude. I could never forget her. Were I unfortunate enough to live for a thousand years I could never forgive myself for what I had done to her. "This is wonderful. The width of the stage, the height of the dome. Just look at all those balconies. It feels just like the theaters back home."

She slowly made her way toward the stage. By the fall of the footsteps, I could tell she was alone.

I did not dare to look. Every muscle was frozen solid holding me at bay like a treed fox who had yet to be seen by the pack of pursuing hounds.

"Hello?" She called out, "Is anyone here? Hrm, I must be early." The hollow echo of her shoes across the stage reverberated, taunting me in my hiding place.

 _This is a mistake! I shouldn't be here!_ Ran through my head in an endless mantra. _What if I can't hold back? All I have worked for will be wiped away! Destroyed!_

"Oh. What is this?" The innocence … it was still there lingering in her nearly flawless voice.

My eyes looked earnestly to the now empty vase beside me. It had been the last desperate plan I had considered to soften the inevitable. The white rose had lain in wait atop the piano.

"How lovely … " Her voice trailed off wistfully, as if wandering into the past. The painful silence that followed was filled by my fretful heartbeats. "Could it be that this hall has its own ghost?" There was a hint of childlike laughter to the question.

One can only hold ones breath for so long. For want of air, I was forced to inhale far sharper than I had intended. Even I had heard the revealing echo.

I heard the rasp of her dress as she turned toward the wing and took a tentative step. She had to know she was not alone.

Swallowing hard, I took a deep breath and braced myself for the first halting words she would hear from my voice in nearly ten years. "No, I assure you; _this_ hall shall not ever be haunted."

The step's cadence changed, intermittent fast steps disrupted by the halt of more cautious ones. She had yet to pass through the door when her shaking voice whispered. "I must be dreaming."

"Then this is my waking nightmare … " I uttered into my lap, my head downcast. I wasn't ready for this.

She pushed open the door and stopped the moment her eyes discovered my figure slumped in the darkness. "How—how can this be—are you really—?"

Every fiber of my being fought my hand as I forced it to reach up and gently pull the mask from my face. I heard her breath halt for a long moment. No man on earth would ever desire to walk about with my abhorrent face. If anything would convince the poor girl that her once mentor still walked among the living, it would be the naked truth of my face. Unable to quell the full tremor of despair, I replaced the mask and waited for her to run away. I could not fault her for that.

To my surprise, when I tentatively glanced up, she was still there the lights of the auditorium back lighting her familiar features. Ten years had blossomed upon her. She was even more beautiful then my tortured memory had served me. Her blond hair had deepened, falling in stylish ringlets down the back of her neck. She was trim and the powder blue gown flattered her form. But those eyes. The endless pools of innocence that dwelt in her bright blue eyes. They had once served as my refuge from the hateful world. Now, they searched the figure before her in disbelief of the evidence displayed by my undeniable presence.

"But—you died." She did not move. Did not retreat, did not advance. Framed by the light of the auditorium, she looked so angelic as she stood her ground before this dreadful revelation. "Your heart stopped beating as you lay in my arms, I felt it."

"You … you were meant to be deceived." I confessed sheepishly, my fingers toying with the signet ring. "Christine, I swear to you we did it for your own good. Had I but known that fate would cross our paths again I would … " there were no more words. What _would_ I have done?

Her eyes narrowed in full confusion. "Why? Why all those years ago did it occur to you that causing me to believe you were dead was a kindness?"

"At the time … it was just … there had been no other way … " Unable to look at her I scrambled for just why it had been the right thing. "Nadir and I assumed you would be less torn if I was gone and unable to ever return. It would give you … closure."

"I see … " Her reply was tinged with an emotion I could not readily deduce. Hurt perhaps? Betrayal? Tentatively she repeated, "I was with you when your heart stopped. Erik … you were dead to the world."

Biting my lip, I confessed. "An easy enough condition to produce with the proper dose of a few herbs."

"Erik? You drugged yourself?"

"Nadir gave me the antidote shortly after Raoul took you from my house. I measured out both portions myself before you even arrived. I knew precisely what I was doing."

Abruptly she turned from me. I lost all chance of reading her as she caressed the tender petals of the white rose I had left for her. "No … I believe this is one time where you didn't know precisely what you had done."

Forced to use the wall to lever myself to my feet, for a moment I considered embracing her. The yearning to hold her again clawed at my fragile self control. Before me she stood, so close, so still. Her back was to me, shoulders hanging—she looked as one mourning the dead at a funeral. My outstretched yearning hand fell limply to my side. What had I done? I had thought to save the girl, put her in the arms of a man who could provide for her. A man who was stable, safe, living in the light of day. Save her from the desire of becoming ensnared in the dark shadows of the grave world I had confined myself to.

"Christine … " I began softly. " … not a day passed when I did not think of you in my exile. I missed you."

She turned halfway, her eyes still on the blushing petals. "I mourned your passing." A slight tremble betrayed itself as it infected the stiff leaves. "Long ago I mourned you, thinking your spirit watched over me from above."

"How could you think such a thing … you know what I have done. There is no place in heaven for a man of my nature."

A slow breath stirred the petals before she drifted her eyes to look upon my masked face. "That did not stop me from believing it was possible. Instead, all this time you have been here … across the sea."

"I could not possibly have remained in Paris." I pleaded softly. "I needed to distance myself . . . from the past. From everything that had happened. Please understand, I was left with few options. So I came here in hopes of starting anew. Perhaps this time doing things right." I gestured to the graceful structure that surrounded us. "This time no games, no hiding in the dark, no pulling strings. No phantom."

Her eyes reflected the wonder of the auditorium as she stepped out into the lights of the stage. They were not supplied with full current, but as the half light caressed her, she positively glowed. "I knew I recognized the stonework. This _was_ you?"

Edging to the door where the walls of the stage dome banished the wing to shadow, I remained cloaked in darkness as I watched her command the empty stage. "Yes." I replied tentatively before going on. "I was a large part of this. I wanted to leave a legacy untarnished by my past. I dared to try and abolish the shameful treason of my more impulsive days. This Music Hall stands as a testament to my efforts. This time I have been invested fully as a man of flesh and blood." My hands lovingly caressed the fine sculpting beside me and a slow smile found its way to my face. "I have not vanished into some dark crevice as before, even when the world bestows upon me the harsher side it possesses."

Tension held her form rigid as a slow nod became the embodiment of her reply.

"Christine, I swear I will never again repeat the missteps of my past." Abandoning the shadows, I dared to tread onto the stage to stand behind her. I felt like a foolish boy who had broken a serious promise.

Silence stretched out before she spoke, turning to face me with her head cocked. "Why are you here?"

Waving towards the piano, I confessed, "Carnegie asked me to fill in as the rehearsal accompanist. It seems the regular man was taken ill."

"Ah." She looked to the rose in her hands and inhaled the sweet scent. "So … I am to sing for my old mentor." Gracefully she set the rose on the polished black surface of the grand piano. The darker reflection of the flower gleamed back under the lights.

"I understand if you should refuse." Wringing my hands together, I assumed she would use the opportunity to abandon the man who once tried to shamelessly steal her from the world of light to keep her for his own.

Once more I was wrong. A surprising pattern I was beginning to welcome. "It has been some time, Master. I regret to inform you I have not kept up with my regular rehearsals and engagements over the years."

Cracking my fingers, I slipped onto the bench and offered a sideways grin up at her. "Madame, I am sure we can remedy any wear time has had with short work."

"Mother!" A young boy called from the back of the hall, dashing at breakneck speed toward the stage. "They said you were in here. Mother, this place is amazing! Have you seen it?" Without decelerating, he ran straight into her waiting arms; a lithe boy full of energy and joy. Short dark hair untamed by a comb lay haphazardly on his head. Dust from the stonework peppered his gray knickers, clearly he had been exploring. His complexion was pale against Christine's more olive toned skin. But his voice was a gift to the world. The unique timbre snapped my focus on him immediately, before I could even ponder the question I knew the answer.

"Charles." She scooped him up into her arms. The boy, I deduced to be around around eight or nine years old. Studying his remarkably nimble features left me with no doubt as I leaned back observing the pair with concealed curiosity. "What have you been doing? I told you to wait in our rooms at the hotel." She reached a graceful hand forward to gently wipe a little dust from his face. Turning to see his slim features better in the lighting, her eyes shined with a vibrant beauty.

"I know Mother. But I just had to look. Father said he would be back later." His excited voice obtained such a rapid clip as to nearly eliminate every space in between each word. Listening to him now resembled the first encounter with a foreign tongue, where one is forced to mentally slow down the pattern of speech to select out the individual words.

Christine frowned. "Your father left you alone—again?"

"Mm hm." His long fingers toyed with her hair, coiling and uncoiling it with undeniable grace. "I love America, Mother. It's so different from France." I saw the blush rise to her cheeks as she offered a smile to him, clearly forgiving the boy for his wandering off.

Unable to resist at least a moments interaction with the boy, I slipped into my native tongue as I leaned an elbow on the piano. "Exciting, though lacking in the sheer elegance of old world charm."

As she set him down, the boy became aware of my presence for the first time. His faultless face bore an enormous grin as he replied back in French, "Are you from France?"

"Indeed, I am." I gave a little bow, as much as one can execute sitting down. Effortlessly returning to English I concluded, "Every country is its own world, bears its own charm. America is still finding hers. That is precisely why she is so exciting."

"And precisely why you were drawn here." Christine nodded down to me. There was a forlorn cast to her eyes and I had no time to guess why before she gestured to me. "Charles, this is a friend of mine. His name is Erik. Erik, this is my son, Charles."

"A pleasure to met you, Sir." The young boy performed a full bow.

I raised my eyebrows with approval no one saw. "Such fine manners. You have raised him well, Madame."

It's always easy to feel a stare, and there was no denying Charles was curious about me. Unknowing that I was just as intrigued by his mere existence. "Why do you wear that mask?" Ahh, but he was young.

Christine stopped breathing. I caught my own breath quickly and forced the reaction to subside. Offering an awkward smile, I rolled my hand drawing attention away from the object of my own discomfort. "Well young Charles, I am rather a famous individual. Over time, I have found that anonymity is a blessing. It is far simpler for me to go about my activities unrecognized."

The answer seemed enough for the boy. In my peripheral vision Christine's tension drained as the dangerous topic had been safely pushed aside.

"Are all American's odd?" He inquired curiously.

I laughed at the innocence of his question. "My dear boy, remember I am not American, I was born to France. But you will find that here on these shores the scope you shall meet is wider than the old world has to offer."

Holding up the rose to the boy, Christine instructed him. "Why don't you do me a favor and take this up to our rooms and place it in water like a good boy. I will be up to take you to dinner after Erik and I rehearse. Remember, this rose is special. Be careful with it."

"Alright, Mother." Cradling the rose he dashed back towards the door leaving us once more adrift in the wake of a strained silence.

I leaned against the piano as she turned back to me. When she blanched, I knew she had perceived my amused smile. "Charles." One word, one name. One significant name. "What an intriguing choice of name for your son." When she remained silent I drew a single finger across the polished instrument. "The name of the father I never knew. The father who died before I was born. Truly that cannot be just some incredible coincidence?"

"Erik … I thought you were dead."

"We have covered that ground and laid it to rest. Even before I heard his name the sheer reality of his origin was completely apparent. By the theories of evolution no other combination would have produced such a specific array of distinctive traits." I recalled the heavier boned chiseled features of the Chagny line, Charles bore no resemblance. Gazing in the direction the boy had run off, I nodded. "He bears far too many of my traits." Looking up at her statuesque form, I observed, "But he bears your innocence. Tell me, does Raoul know?"

She looked sharply away, biting her lip. "He can never know. Never."

My fingers flowed down to the keys, resting soundlessly there. "I see. There is no need for anyone else to be the wiser, Christine. Fortunately, the vast majority of humanity is dreadfully unobservant to such distinguishable details until there is reason to draw attention to them. I am only regretful of not having known of this earlier." Inside my chest, gravity increased ten-fold, my heart felt heavier. I had abandoned her brokenhearted with a child. She had born my son without me at her side and all these years she had born our sin alone, locked in a prison of silence. If anyone were to know of the events of our last night together the scandal could never be buried deep enough.

Her pleading voice broke my reverie. "Erik … please. Time is fleeting."

Striking a chord on the piano, I concurred. "Indeed, your rehearsal time is nearly used up. Let us proceed. Now, you recall the old warm up routines?" She nodded, still a little stiff from the revelation. I stroked the keys, letting my fingers glide over them longingly. "Alright, begin."

That they were simple runs of notes meant to exercise a voice and allow an accompanist to find their vocalist mattered not. The moment her voice rose into the air of the hall to the chords my hands coaxed from the piano, we were wrapped in that balm of the ignorant bliss of so many years ago. Not another soul was in the room, but it mattered not. Our spirits were born upon those notes to drift and twine in the abundant confines of that auditorium. That beautiful instrument I had drawn out of the shy young beauty ages past had not tarnished with time. Instead, time had matured the tones, gifting them with a rich quality she had not previously possessed. The higher notes were still there, but they held more substance. More life! After each exercise was finished, I called out another simply to never have this end. At last, I had no more to offer.

Withdrawing my hands from the keys, I slowly lifted my gaze to meet hers. She stood patiently waiting the critique that had always ensued as part of our prior lessons. "Christine," I had always held it as a danger to let a performer know precisely how well they were doing. Praise often caused one to stall in their rise. This time I found my tongue unwilling to comply. "I am impressed. You retained much of your lessons well. There are a few minor things we can improve upon … if you should desire."

Blush covered her cheeks as she drew her hand across the lid of the piano. "I do desire your counsel, Master. If you would but offer, I would gladly accept a lesson."

Her hand drifted towards mine, a mere finger length away from contact.

The door slammed against the wall in the back of the hall, I whipped my head in the direction as Christine spun in surprise. Before I could hear the words, I identified the obnoxious voice of the Italian Diva who was my next session. Why hadn't **she** been absent today?

"I should go." Backing away, Christine turned and began to leave the stage before I could issue a single motion to stop her.

La Serenissima's loud and overbearing entrance drowned out all my thoughts and any further words from Christine. I wasn't even listening to the endless drivel the over-indulged prima donna was spewing as I helplessly watched the fleeting figure of my past disappear through a door once more.

"Excuse me!" La Serenissima stomped onto the stage. "Are you the accompanist? Of course you are. The star of the show is here. You know who I am? Of course you do, little man. I wish to warm up."

Why her? Why invite _this_ one to the festival? I was beginning to think I should have paid more attention to the program instead of the structure. After all, we wanted quality sounds reverberating. The lowing of a cow was still undeniably a cow regardless of the quality of the hall it moos in.

"Cow!" The insult issued from the darkness of the wing behind me. My lips had never moved.

"Who said that!?" The soprano spun and charged into the empty wing, boards on the stage protesting under her every step. "Who said that? I order you to come out!"

"Senora." I reined in my tone, keeping it level and in check. "The schedule is tight, may we begin?"

Stomping her feet back to the piano like a child that had been denied sweets, something La Serenissima was a complete stranger to, she glared into the wing. "I will find whoever said that and have his tongue removed."

 _No you won't._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

"Erik? You're not trying to suffocate yourself are you?"

Undoubtedly Nadir had been mildly alarmed to discover me not on the balcony this time, but instead flopped down in the chair with the entire down comforter hastily torn from my bedroom and crammed tightly about by head. I shifted my hand to inform him I had not passed on from this world.

Through the muffle of the fabric and feathers I heard him emit a relieved chuckle. "Good heavens, what are you attempting to do?"

"Block-it-out." Biting off every word for emphasis, I had to wonder just what effect all this insulation had upon my unusual voice.

Locating him via sound alone, I noted his footsteps carried him over toward the balcony. "And what precisely are you trying to block out with the incredibly protective shield comprised of feathers?"

I continued the lock jawed punch to each syllable. "La Serenissima."

"Oh, wonderful. She is back in town." His mocking joviality only served to grate further on my already taught nerves.

Grabbing the edges of the blanket, I pulled it tighter around my head to suppress the undignified growl before flinging my refuge aside to the floor. "Her name is an insult! She is **anything** but serene! I have such an abominable headache. An hour, _one full hour_ with that overindulged brat beside the piano! It was enough to drive one to put the cow out of her misery!"

Nadir was smiling with grand amusement at my torturous experience. "But she is the Eastern voice of the West. She says so herself. Shame to destroy such a gorgeous instrument."

"Stop teasing me, Nadir. You were not forced to listen to her godawful caterwauling. And to think, she calls _that_ singing. I feel the greatest pity for the audiences who are made to pay a fee to have their ears bled!"

Leaning against the balcony door frame, his grin broadened. "Perhaps it is a new exotic form of medicine. A blade-less way to renew the vitals."

I dug my nails into the arms of the chair and shot back. "It certainly cannot be accounted as without agony! Give me the blade any day, far less painful and maddening than enduring that sow emulating a barn yard!"

Shaking his head, Nadir erupted into laughter at my expense. "So she has become a pig now. I'm sorry, Erik. I shouldn't be making light of this. But surely you were not too busy to perceive there were other areas of the building you could have gone to work on."

"Not possible when I was the one at the piano." I snapped with a roll of my fingers across the arm of the chair.

My friend froze for a moment, his bewildered eyes widening in the dimmed lamp light. "You … " He began, taking a step toward me he held forth a shaking hand. "You were at the piano? Why? Erik, you are an architect here, a contracted stone mason. Not a musician."

Nadir was no fool. It would only be a matter of moments before he recalled that crucial detail of last night's conversation. "The regular accompanist had been taken ill." Admittedly it had been a vain attempt to distract his attention.

Flurried steps carried him across the room to loom over me. Nadir had always been of short stout nature. Only when I was seated was he afforded the benefit of being eye-level with me. I found myself far too mentally fatigued to strip that from him. "Erik!" his tone was overwrought with hints of shock mingled with something else, was that suspicion? "You didn't! We were going to discuss how to get through this. How could you poison another man just to get to the stage!"

I let a frown spread across my mouth slowly, looking him full in the face as the accusation hung in the tense air between us. "You really trust me that little."

Holding up an accusing finger, he nodded his head. "I know what you are capable of."

Leaning back in my chair, I folded my hands before me. My words came out slow and precise. "Poison a man I have not even met? A man I did not even know existed until Carnegie requested my assistance because that very man was ill? Think, Nadir. Is that even logical, even for the phantom of the opera?"

A long silence filled the air as I studied him, watching thoughts unravel in his mind. Slowly he sank down on the edge of the desk, his tone quieter and more hesitant now. "You really had nothing to do with it?"

I shook my head, my expression painstakingly devoid of all humor.

He exhaled slowly. "Good. Last night I had to carry you to your bed. When I discovered in the morning you were already gone, I was quite worried that some dark plan had stolen your senses."

Unable to refrain, I rolled my eyes with a sigh. "I was wondering how I got there. I did not recall a single step toward my chambers."

"That is because you didn't take even one. I quite literally had to drag you there. It is beyond belief just how much you weigh given how thin you are. At least you were sound asleep for once. It had been my hope I would have a chance to speak with you before you took off this morning."

My thoughts drifted back to the little bird that had joyously greeted the dawn with its swansong. Had it not been for his unfortunate perch on my sill, Nadir might very well have gotten his wish. "There was much I had need of attending down at the hall. It required an early start."

"And yet you found time to sit at the piano? I find that little detail most interesting."

I was growing weary of his prying questions. My hand balled into a fist and I lowered my gaze, isolating the tops of my eyes as they glared through the holes in the mask. "My time is my own, old friend. Keep to your own affairs."

A deep frown creased his aging features. "They become my affairs when they threaten our chances of remaining here. Though I do enjoy venturing out on trips, Erik, I have no desire to be uprooted once again due to some insidious plot invading your rationale."

The nails on my right hand dug into my palm just short of drawing blood. "How many times must I declare to you! I did not arrange it! If you must know the additional task caused a number of unfortunate disturbances in the work which included correcting a rather serious issue with the lighting. It left me with insufficient time to explain the essential details to the work men. I was forced to leave them to complete the work unsupervised. If you wish to have witnesses, I can provide them. Ask Tuthill, we were discussing the very matter at the time that Carnegie requested my assistance."

Nadir released a leaden sigh. "I sincerely hope you are telling me the truth."

"Trust me, Nadir." I insisted wearily. "Why would I endanger every achievement I have built here when we are so near to seizing the brass ring? Long ago I may have been foolish enough to compromise that in the chase of an insane folly. I will accede that much. There is far too much at stake now." I stood up and strode past him onto the balcony to cast my gaze upon the corner of the Music Hall. Solemnly I laid my hands on the railing in the stagnant night air. "You seem to forget, this is not my dream alone I bring to fulfillment. My investment in the success of the Music Hall is for this child of brick and mortar to become the everlasting cornerstone of every great musician's career. To grace her stage will be to mark the moment when the world recognizes you are worthy of her affection." A tinge of poison crept into those words lending them an unconscious double meaning I had not initially intended. Hastily I bit my tongue trying to push back the dangerous connection with my dark past. This time it wasn't about me. I clung to the desperate desire that the world would never be subjected to that harsh destructive side of me again.

"Erik … are you even listening to me?" I swung around to find Nadir directly behind me, brow furrowed in deep concern.

Standing up a little straighter, I brushed off my vest and straightened my tail coat. False dignity is hard to portray in the face of one who knows your secrets so well. "My apologies, old friend. I was lost in thought."

"Clearly. No less than three times I had asked you about who rehearsed with you today. It was like you were not with me anymore." Leaning against the railing, he locked eyes with me, searching to see that I had returned fully to my senses. "Was everyone in attendance?" The way he said the word _everyone_ implied an interest in a specific name.

I kept the eye contact unbroken and offered him the information he sought. "She was there."

He blinked. Not a word, not a gesture; just the slow blink of his eyes was the only response. In truth, I found it a little amusing. For all my prior concern over our rendezvous it seemed that the old Daroga's exceeded my own by great strides. "If you were at the piano … " he began and was reluctant to finish.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I watched as he struggled to come to terms with how the encounter must have proceeded. Readily, I empathized with him. After all, if he had even half the ideas my feverish mind had churned out in the last days, it must be driving him insane. Gradually his eyes began to drift from me back inside the open doorway, a slow marked pace that encompassed the entire room. He took a tentative step back into the study and soon abandoned all futile efforts to hide his obvious intentions. Dashing toward my bed chamber he slammed the door open and cried out, "Christine?"

Withdrawing from the balcony, I casually made my way across the oriental rug toward the frantically searching Persian in the other room. While trying to decide if I should be annoyed at once more being found suspect of trickery or amused at Nadir's distressed tossing of my living space in search of fresh evidence of such a treachery. He stuck his head out of my door and exhaled. "Where is she?"

I offered him a detached shrug. "I can assure you that is not within my knowledge. Logic would state, over being tucked within my wardrobe, she is in her hotel rooms with her family."

Closing the door gingerly, he withdrew from my personal chambers, face colored by embarrassment.

"Now." I leveled my gaze even though his eyes would no longer meet mine. "Can we please abandon this wild goose chase and return to being the civilized men we have set out to become here?"

Hesitantly he shook his head in disbelief. "How … how did you do it?"

I sighed, if he insisted on pursuing this it would be far simpler to give him what he wished. "With grace." At least that was what I hoped I had accomplished. "No fancy illusions, no jumping out from a special mirror, no leering over her—I did the one thing the Phantom never would have done."

Nadir stared at me, wide eyed. Clearly struggling to bridge the gap between the man I had been, overbearing and with an insatiable obsession, with the man I was now, claiming to be capable of restraint. He could not find the words. So I gave them to him.

" … I surrendered all my power over her."

"How?"

 _This might take a while._ I slid down onto the black leather couch and let the cool soft pillows cradle my weary frame. The physical toll of this last year had finally caught up with me. "I have come to learn how to naturally sway the will of others. Have I not told you some of my tricks that human nature renders highly effective? The sole reason they are made possible is that so few victims are aware they are even under the power. While I was cursed in one fashion, I have apparently been blessed in others. My height, strength, and dexterity allow me quite easily to manipulate a subject into believing they are powerless; even to the extent of an unhindered mode for escape nearby. The singularly unique properties of my voice to bespell and entrance those of lesser will, well—much of the human race—supersedes all others. Above this, you are well aware of my genius and gift of outwitting those at my whim. While having mirrors and strings preset at my disposal are convenient, it is hardly essential." Realizing I had been wandering a little far from the main topic, I cleared my throat and returned back to the truth he so desired. "But I digress. When she came into the auditorium only to find a white rose on the piano, I was concealed behind the wing. When I called out to her she came to find me seated upon the floor. That was it." With a wave of my hand I dismissed the whole thing outright. "She could have fled at any time and even with my reaction timing I could never have hoped to have stopped her."

His color, if it could be believed, turned paler; gaunt with complete disbelief. "And did she … flee?"

I shook my head slowly. "To my own amazement, no. Though I offered her sufficient opportunities to gracefully withdraw, she made her choice to remain and rehearse with me. Had one been eavesdropping, one would have sworn I was pushing her away."

"You played for her?"

"Only some warm up exercises, singing drills. There was not much time left between our conversation about the obvious and the arrival of ou—" A knot caught in my throat. That little shred of reality I had yet to bring to the light and examine fully. " . . . her son."

Thankfully Nadir, still wrapped in the dulling effects of shock, had apparently missed the near slip of my tongue. "She brought a son from Paris?"

"Yes, a delightful little boy. I'm sure you will get a chance to met him." I caught my hand toying with a tassel on a cushion and instantly subdued the betraying gesture.

The corners of his mouth turned up in an expression of astonished wonderment. "I am stunned, Erik. Somehow, you have managed to do the impossible yet again."

I smiled back, it was an act of false confidence, but he was unaware of the facade as I flippantly replied. " It is after all what I specialize in."

"Has she forgiven you for deceiving her?"

"Mostly. As much as I can tell, she recognized why the events had unfolded as they had." Rubbing a finger across my chin I mused. "I should say I do not believe she agreed it was right … and to be honest, I am no longer certain your idea was so wise."

"Now Erik." He swiftly held up a hand in a gesture that reminded me of those impotent attempts many made to evade my Punjab cord. Where had I left that? Come to think of it, I had not seen its whereabouts in well over a year. "You did agree at the time. We cannot go forward while locked in hindsight."

"But, Daroga, I am not looking back." My gaze to him was sidelong. "I am only interesting in moving forward."

His reply was broken by a panicked knock at the front door. Through the open balcony I heard my name frantically shouted. It sounded like one of the workmen. This was not the first time one stood at my door after dusk and likely not the last. The final days before opening were always the most hectic.

My stride carried me down the stairs before Nadir even made it across the room, and before any of my servants could reach the entrance. In anticipation, for these unplanned visits always concluded in much the same fashion, I grabbed my cloak before tearing open the door and glaring out into the dark at the frightened young man before me. I did not know his name but he had been quite a worker on the site for the last month. "What is it?" I barked at him coldly.

"S-sorry, Master Erik to disturb you so late—but but—" Even in the darkness I could see that he was white with terror beneath the flush of having run the many blocks to my doorstep. "I've been sent to report an accident! Ple—"

Not another word was needed. I was out the door, the cloak flying into its place around my shoulders. I left the boy to collect his breath. His task was now complete. Now it was my duty to once more clean up another man's careless mess. As I drew closer to the six story Music Hall with its Renaissance style frescoes, my eyes searched for signs of smoke or a crumble of stone. No evidence of such greeted me. Thus the problem must have been within.

Flinging the door open, I tore into the lobby relying on my ears to discover the location of the trouble. I had to travel well into the back halls of the main auditorium before I heard the commotion. Faint voices echoed out from the open doors near chamber music hall. If my suspicion was correct, the accident was in the very one they had been resetting the lights in. My measurements had been correct. I had checked them no less than three times, just as Giovanni had instructed me to do when I had been his diligent apprentice. It was a sacred rule: never trust the first time, always check to be sure you were right. Then one more time to be certain. Lives depended upon what we calculated. Commit to a mistake and your entire work can crumble into one immense tomb.

I hated when my graver instincts were right. I found the workers in the very room, the rigging for the chandelier having swung down from one side and slammed up against stone wall. Beneath the shards of metal lay Jacob's shattered body. He had been a promising worker, quick to take instruction in that steel trap of his mind. That mind would hold no more knowledge in a skull split wide open.

"Why are you all standing there?" I flared the moment I crossed the thresh-hold of the now bloodstained recital hall. "Where is Herman? He should have prevented this from happening!"

Like sheep from a wolf they shied away from me, unsure of what to do.

"He … he ran off the moment the lights fell. Master—" A timid voice offered.

Furiously I grabbed the collar of the workman who had spoken. "Get Jacob out of here! Take his body to his wife and console her!" Releasing him to stagger back and numbly conduct his duty, I swung around to the remainder of slack-jawed workers. "You, get Herman! I do not care if you have to drag him back here every step of the way! And you, fetch me the plans I left here earlier." They were not moving fast enough. "NOW!" I induced every ounce of my raw power into that one word. The master was not happy.

While waiting for the plans, I studied the damaged end of the lighting brace, the telling signs of the execution whispered insidiously to me. Someone had modified my instructions. I did not look up as the roll of paper was nervously shoved into my waiting hand. "You may go." I muttered with quiet intensity. This was not his fault, he should not bare the brunt. Behind me I heard the scuffling of feet as the unfortunate Herman was dragged towards the stage approaching my seething rage.

"Please … no … let me go! It was an accident!" The poor man pleaded as he fell on his knees.

My back to him, I unrolled the plans with slow deliberate motions. "Herman, do not move. The rest of you may take your leave."

"T-thank you, Sir." As a flock of birds escapes a hunter, the men disappeared from my sight.

I began in a falsely calm tone; far calmer than the situation warranted. "Tell me, Herman, are you a master architect?"

The trembling man wrung his hat between his fingers. "N-n … no, Master Erik. I am not."

Turning to provide him the full view of the scowl on my lips, I let my unnerving eyes bore into him. "Then, tell me why you took it upon yourself to alter a master architect's plans?" The tone of my voice was still dangerously level. A sure signal for those who knew me best that my mood was approaching its darkest.

"I … I … thought … " he stammered.

It was the last I would take, my temper snapped like a winter dry twig. My voice rent the air in a torrent of rage. "You were not hired to think! You were hired to follow instructions! Your decision cost a young man his life all for following **your** instructions instead of **mine**! Actions have consequences, some of the gravest nature!"

The man before me shrank in terror from the verbal onslaught. He was unaware of how fortunate he was I had not had the chance to locate my old cord or he may have found himself a permanent fixture of the Music Hall in place of the chandelier. Inside me I could feel my heart pumping, my fists tightened yearning to teach this young fool the extent of his folly. I had to stop this before it went too far. Before I lost my final thread of control.

"Get out of here! You are permanently dismissed! If I see you on this site again it will be the last your eyes shall ever see! Understood?" He nodded with a tense gulping motion, taking a timorous step back. "Now go!"

He required no further bidding. Turning on his heel he fled from the hall as though the very hounds of hell were in hot pursuit. A flurry of footsteps followed in his wake. How unsurprising that the dismissal had not gone unwitnessed by the crew. Pulling my cloak off my shoulders, I tried to shed the remnants of the outburst. My coat came off and I rolled up the sleeves of my white shirt. The first task I needed to do was remove the blood from the wall. Then I could finish the repair of the lights. Do it correctly. Keeping on task would get me through this. Fortunately the glass work had not yet been installed on the chandelier's framework. By morning, I pledged to the silent hall, no one would see this had happened.

* * *

A sunrise need not be witnessed to have knowledge that it had occurred. Enough of my days had been spent dwelling in darkness to have a sense for the inevitable passage of time. Having spent my anger on repairing the damage to the electric lighting rig and the essential wire tracks, I had calmly observed all that remained was to install the delicate glass work. Once certain the angles were proper, I had found myself seated at the organ bench up in the main auditorium staring blurry eyed at the keys.

For far too long, I had been exiled from the glorious tones of a pipe organ. Though this was hardly the immense organ I had built in my underground house, it still felt like a bitter reunion to sit on the throne before the beautiful keyboard. The organ was small and compact, the bulk of it tucked between the few feet of hollow space behind the stage left wing's wall and the outer wall of the structure. Regretfully, the music hall had a stubborn neighbor restricting the initial size of the hall. Carnegie's efforts to purchase the brownstone house had failed to find the man's extortionate price. I had offered to assist in convincing the man to relocate so we might have constructed the hall large enough for access on both sides of the great stage to do it justice. The reception to my suggestion had been a mere shrug, Carnegie was convinced our neighbor would sooner or later grow weary of all the carriage calls beside his home. Time would be our ally. So, we had let the issue lie, building the wall as far as we possibly could; less than a meter between the hall and his residence. It was among some of the tightest stonework I had ever undertaken.

The crew and performers were not set to arrive on site for at least another hour, affording me time for this selfish little indulgence. Like an automaton, my hands slid up into position, muscle memory locking my fingers into a chord. Likewise, my feet as if driven by some mechanism found their place on the pedals. I hesitated, hands hovering over the ivory and ebony bars. Without an organ to play it on, the music that longed to escape me had only existed on paper. It had never in all my years graced a stage. Should it now, even with no audience with which to experience it? Did I really wish to lend voice to it now?

Yes. It wasn't so much a want but a visceral need.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With it, my fingers dropped onto the keys, caressing the first bittersweet chord into life.

Chord after chord poured out of the pipe organ, filling the resonance chamber with a hauntingly rich music, a lingering melody that purposefully was left unresolved to hang in perpetual limbo. Closing my eyes, I let it cascade out, releasing the flood waters behind the dam of my emotional turmoil. It had been too long since I had access to a pipe organ, ten long years isolated from the glorious throne I once resided upon. Attending a concert in an audience and listening was one thing. But feeling the breath of the instrument vibrating beneath ones fingers and feet was quite remarkably another. Once I had reached the end of the introduction's notes my throat was prepared to give in to the music. It had been years since I had dared to unleash my singing voice.

 _Shadows deepen in the darkness_

 _Lengthened by the light,_

 _Cold and bitter lies the soul_

 _Banished to the night._

 _Time will rend even the strong_

 _To fall before its might,_

 _Worn on from the endless trial_

 _I hold on to your sight._

 _You were the light_

 _That drew me from shadow_

 _You were the promise_

 _The world could never know!_

 _Teach me to live_

 _Hold me in memory_

 _For I cannot walk_

 _By your side!_

 _Angel of the Light_

 _Cast your eyes upon me_

 _Though I am not worthy_

 _Of your heart._

 _Angel of the Light_

 _This world has cast its justice_

 _Broken is the promise_

 _Laid upon this grave._

The final chord of the song hung in the air, bereft of resolution. The acoustics of the hall showcased the full power I had unleashed into its embracing heights. My fingers rested on the keys as I had despaired the lack of another verse, one less penned in tragedy. But it was what it was. For all the power I had once held, my tricks had only ever been illusions. I could not alter the past regardless of how hard I tried. I opened my eyes to find Carnegie standing beside the organ, his eyes glazed, awestruck and silent. I had no doubt what had brought him here so early. Clearing my throat, I withdrew my hands from the keys, casting my eyes to the side.

"I know why you are here," I muttered softly, hoping to break the spell I had inadvertently placed upon him. "The situation has been remedied and the man responsible dismissed. Though I am not proud of my tone with him, I do not regret it."

"You are correct in my original intentions to speak with you." His distant voice betrayed that he was still spellbound. "But that is no longer what keeps me here. Your actions were justified, give it no more thought. Clearly the proper adjustments were completed. As the crew reported, they were sent home. Am I to assume you finished it yourself?"

I simply nodded.

"Good, then that affair is finished." His hand now rested on the edge of the organ as he widened his eyes, the glazing gradually subsiding. "Erik, I should have come listen to you yesterday! Why did you not tell me you were that spellbinding?"

Idle fingers caressed the keys beneath them, morosely I replied, "I have not played in years."

"Great heavens." He thrust his hands into the air in exasperation. "I do not understand why ever not. Did some critic horrendously slight you in the past? What would compel you to abandon such a talent?"

If only he knew. Unable to bare the weight of his adoring gaze, my own eyes cast down to rest upon my restless fingers. "I had reason enough, Carnegie."

"Your voice … such a captivating instrument of unparalleled beauty. Never in all my years have I heard anything so singularly commanding of attention." He was breathless in awe. "Erik, I had assumed by the natural timber to your speaking voice that you must be in possession of a great singing voice. But I was gravely mistaken in that assumption. My expectations had fallen markedly short of reality." Casting his eyes to the ceiling, he continued. "The voice of an angel come down from heaven."

My hand shot up from the keys in a sharp slash, abruptly cutting off his words. "Enough. Carnegie, you say too much!"

Forbidden to speak again of my voice, his hand caressed the polished organ's edge. "This is the first I have heard the organ actually being played, not simply being tuned. That music was so completely captivating. I could not resist being drawn to the auditorium." He raised a hand toward the empty music stand. "I have never heard that piece, what is it from? Who wrote it? As there is no sheet music before you, I can only assume you have it memorized."

 _The lament has been the song of my heart every day since. How could I not have memorized it?_ My head hung lower, accompaniment to my reserved reply. "Of course you have not heard it, I wrote it. It has never been performed."

"You?" He shook his head in utter disbelief. "A composer as well? No wonder you were capable of designing the acoustics of the hall. Are you certain creating buildings is your destiny, Erik? A voice like yours and hands that can create such wondrous music . . . truly you could own any stage!"

"That is why I co-own this one." I tried to make light of it, but the jest only served to add greater injury to the old wound.

"If you had but told me, I would have given you a place in the grand opening's program." He paused. "There is still time. You should perform." Carnegie smiled broadly, hopefully. "Damrosch will be on stage, it would be an grand honor to have you on here as well. Please Erik, say you will at least consider it?"

My heart was pounding against my chest, threatening to escape the confines of my rib cage. I glanced over to see the man who had unwittingly given me a chance to share his dream … and I glimpsed his determination to share another one. Without the consent of my will my head began to nod. "I will consider it. But I make no promises."

"Fantastic." He placed a hand upon my shoulder. "There is no argument that will convince me the level of talent I just witnessed is unworthy of this stage for any reason upon this earth."

The pride filled conviction in his eyes drove into my chest, stabbing like a knife. I could think of an argument that clearly would strike me as unworthy of the stage. Simple enough, what I had done with those talents back in Paris. The actions of a bitter recluse that nearly destroyed two of his greatest creations. Blessedly, Carnegie had remained entirely ignorant of my past. I feared if he ever suspected my involvement at the Paris Opera had been the obsessive haunting of her massive hidden passages, the shameless manipulation of the management, countless incidents of the most insidious nature including wanton murder, and crowned with the horrors of the night I unleashed the chandelier from the ceiling for the sole purpose of creating a distraction to cover my theft of Christine from the stage; our days as trusted colleagues would be over and I would return to the hopeless wretch I once was.

"In the meantime," his voice interrupted my thoughts. "I hate to ask it as you have clearly been up all night, but Lloyd is still ill. Would you be willing to fill in again?"

A sigh escaped me. "Going without rest is something I am well accustomed to. I will not fail you, Carnegie. Consider the rehearsals covered."

He held out a list to me. "Thank you, Erik. The first will begin at ten o'clock. I will try and stop by later if I get a chance." Placing his hand on my shoulder he gave it a squeeze before passing on to the rest of his business.

I gave the list a home on the edge of the piano, replacing my jacket with a gentle sweep. There was time enough to take in a little air before rehearsals started.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

"Close, but the tone is pinched." Sitting at the piano, I strained my ears in the effort to cut out the excessive background noise. "Something is wrong."

Behind me, the collection of performers engaged rather unprofessionally in boisterous discussion. One voice drowned out everyone else. La Serenissima complained in a long drawn out rant about how inadequate her lodgings were. After the third rendition of her sad sob story, I had had quite enough. Slamming my hands down on the keys, I rounded on her from my bench. "Enough!" Silence descended as everyone's eyes locked on me in shock. "This is a rehearsal! If it is not your turn you are not to make a sound! Is that understood!"

The Italian diva was clearly insulted by my tone. Scrunching up her face, she wagged a finger towards me. "You are a mere accompanist. How dare you comman—"

"Madame." Disregarding all rules of common etiquette, as she had previously proved deserving of none of them, I cut her off abruptly. "This is not a saloon for idle chatter. We are here to work, not complain."

"Heh!" She exhaled extravagantly with a violent gesture from her garish feather fan. "To be restrained to only a suite at the hotel. A star of my caliber should have access to the penthouse! But what would a peasant like you know of the suffering as I have known!"

 _What would I know of suffering? I am being forced to sit here and listen to your infernal whining, you spoiled brat!_ The fingers of my right hand clawed soundlessly at the keys as I fought my instincts to teach her a lesson she would never forget, one she would be lucky if she failed to live through! Instead I replied coldly, "I have heard you sing. That is quite sufficient for any man."

To my astonishment, she blushed and waved her fan as though I had complimented her. This woman was even more ignorant of her complete lack of talent than I had first assessed. "Than you know what the balm of pure pleasure is."

"If that is considered pleasure, I should very much detest experiencing disgust by comparison. Likely the experience for the audience should prove to be entirely lethal." _Oh dear, did I mutter that out loud?_ By the darkening expression on her face it appears I had. Now I was feeling a little twinge of pleasure … at her expense.

The diva stormed toward the bench as she threw herself into a first class tantrum. "How **dare** you, you little rat! I am _the_ principle singer. I command the stage. I am a rising star in the twilight of the stages of America."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I smirked. "The sun set on that dream before it had even risen."

Behind her, the performers snickered into their hands, their efforts to silence their laughter insufficient. La Serenissima rounded on them, reminding me distinctly of a performing elephant draped in flamboyantly colored, tasseled silks. A fitting image as she was indeed turning this stage into a circus. "Why are you laughing? That is not amusing! You are all just jealous of my talent! All of you, unworthy of standing in my great presence! Talentless wretches, the lot of you! Your place is in vaudeville, not a true stage!"

This had gone quite far enough. Intensifying my tone with the inflection of impending threat, I narrowed my eyes. "One more word out of you, Madame, and I will command the work crew to mortar your tongue inside your mouth where it can do no more damage."

Clearly no one had ever addressed her in such a fashion. I, however, had no reservations about putting the spoiled cow back in her stall. Hesitating only a moment, I saw her searching for a retort before my dark gaze caused her to think better of it. Taking her seat, the diva flicked a fan toward me dismissively as I turned back to the keys.

"Madame Daae, if you please. Now that I can actually hear you, that stanza again." Christine took a deep breath as she watched my hands fall to the chord. There was a little glint of amusement in her eyes and I could not help but return a conspiratorial grin. I had quite enjoyed at last quelling the chaos that ensued around us.

Her strong voice carried the notes well enough, but as she reached the crescendo there was a marked loss of intensity. When I stopped playing, she fell silent and studied me with surprise.

"Here is the issue." I stood up and pushed the bench back creating space to approach her. "As you drop down the scale, your chin is remaining here." Hovering inches before her face I measured where she had been. Her eyes studied my graceful gesture. "You need to lengthen your vocal chords. Gently lift to here." Ever so slightly I lifted the palm of my hand. "That should allow the proper space. Try again, if you please."

She took another breath and followed my lead on the keys. This time it was flawless.

"Remarkable how that works." I grinned up at her. "Now, just remember."

"Thank you, Teac … " Her eyes flashed wide as she nearly reveled our prior connection, covering quickly she adopted the French address, "Monsieur." As she offered a little curtsy, I saw blush flash on her checks. She had wanted to say more but the present company rendered that impossible. I had wished the rehearsals had been private today as they had yesterday. We would not have had to treat each other with such formality. "I regret our time is over."

Glancing at my pocket watch which rested open on the piano to keep me on schedule, I failed to hide the scowl. "You are correct."

"Always a pleasure." She excused herself from the piano. I watched her back as she returned to the group who had begun to chat once more. It was so difficult concealing my interest in her, trying not to award her any more attention than I gave to the others. There was a break in the schedule which afforded me a chance to breathe. From the small table beside me, I fetched the glass of Merlot poured from the bottle I had brought from my personal cellar. I took a deep gulp from the heavy wine … for two reasons. The first being my throat had dried out from issuing all the instructions. The second was to steel my grated nerves against the desire to throttle La Serenissima's voice from her own throat. That in mind, I was trying to decide which was more exhausting. The more physical work of constructing the building or the mentally exhaustive coaching of the performers. That was precisely the moment when the conversation behind me made an unexpected turn.

"It must be true. She was at the Paris Opera and there has only been one Christine Daae. It must have been her." Duchene, a young French girl barely entering her prime, spoke up within earshot of Christine. "It was you, wasn't it?"

She replied with a graceful smile, the picture of pure innocence."Why, whatever do you mean?"

Annitolli, a barrel-chested Italian tenor took a step towards her, his hawk-like eyes studying her keenly. "You know—the story of the Phantom of the Opera. Are the rumors true?"

Christine glanced away from them briefly. I had half a mind to get up and chase them away for the sake of her dignity. I felt my hand tighten on the glass stem it embraced.

"Ohh … " at last came her tentative reply. " _That_ story. Well, yes, mostly it is true. But that was so long ago. Who would care about such an embroidered story now?"

"To be stolen off the stage!" Duchene went on breathlessly, leaning on the edge of a chair like a cat about to pounce. "It must have been terrifying to be stolen by a madman!"

Thankfully, it was a remarkably strong glass within my hand. By some miracle the sudden pressure I was placing on the stem did not shatter it. Maintaining my stony silence, I tried to stabilize my breathing, hoping no one was observing me. My fears were unfounded. All eyes and ears were on her.

Running a hand over her forehead, she brushed aside some stray hairs. I could see her from across the stage struggling to keep her eyes from darting towards me. "No." She began, her throat tightening visibly. Did anyone else see that? "No, it wasn't terrifying." A forced smile once more dominated her face, "It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

The glass nearly slipped from my hand. I only caught it by a rapid reflex of my fingers. With a little tremble, I replaced it on the table before gravity could threaten to take it once more. Within my chest, my heart could not decide if it should race or just stop altogether. Was I hearing her correctly?

"Madame, you were kidnapped from the stage! How could that be?"

She laughed as they crowded around her like a pack of dogs, performers hungry for another story to tell. "The story that is told has been incomplete and tainted by rumor. He wasn't a madman at all. Haven't you all been around the stages enough to know not to believe everything you hear?"

"Weren't you frightened?" Kline stepped forward. Taller and leaner than Annitolli, he ducked down before her to meet her gaze.

She blushed again still searching for the reply, when Annitolli's frame came to tower over my bench. "There is another Frenchman in our midst. If rumor is to be believed, he was involved in the construction of that very building, the Paris Opera itself. What do you know of the story, Signor?"

Why had I so brashly boasted about that project to Carnegie? My eyes shifted around the crowd as I adopted a calm and disconnected appearance that could not have been farther from reality. As the prying eyes abandoned her for fresh prey, Christine placed a hand to her chest, worry written upon her face. "Are you referring to the _Théâtre National de l'Opéra_? Yes, that rumor is true. I did help to construct what is commonly called the Paris Opera. But my involvement mostly ended there." It was the truth, publicly it _had_ ended there. "There is a vast abundance of rumor churned out of that building. I don't believe the half of it."

Annitolli persisted. "Secret passageways, a lair underground by a lake, strange chambers … come now, if you helped construct it, were they really there?"

I shrugged dispassionately. "Who knows. What does it matter."

My unwillingness to provide anything interesting resulted in the eager performers abandoning me and turning once more to Christine. She poised herself for the unwanted attention.

"Tell us, Christine! What was he like? They say he was a vicious murderer!"

"Hideous as sin!" La Mareesa interjected for the first time, caught up in the excitement.

La Serenissima elevated her nose in disgust. "A vile creature, unfit for this world."

With each phrase I felt my resolve weakening. Each statement drove into me like a blade.

"Utter nonsense." She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "All this is from the idle minds of those who knew nothing of him."

"Then he was real!" A hushed voice called out in surprise.

"Of course he was real." She almost laughed at that, but she was coating all their stories with a balm, casting aside their cruel accusations with a dismissive air. I was beginning to suspect that, even were I not present, she would have done the same. "He is as real as I am, and his passion for music just as deep."

An amused giggle issued from group. "She sounds as if she is in love with the ghost!" The cruel laughter erupted into a cacophony as they all joined in the merriment, oblivious that the jesting was entirely at my expense.

Suddenly I could not breathe. My throat snapped closed. Exploding up from the piano, I dashed blindly for the stage door and out into the deserted street. Falling against the firm stone wall of the building, I gasped for air. My mind raced over her words. I could not bear to have waited to hear her reply to that last statement. Which did I dread more … that she deny me? Or that—no! It would never be true! Could never be true! Turning my masked face towards the sky I released an anguished cry. Through my closed throat, it was hardly a sound at all.

"Erik?" I hadn't heard the door open. I spun on my heel, my instinct once again to protect myself, only to find Christine, her face lined with worry, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you alright?"

I was trembling, hating that I could do nothing to stop the sensation, nothing to quell the overwhelming panic. My hands stretched out feebly before me as I shook my head. "No … no … I have never been alright."

Taking several steps towards me she halted, her groping hand just shy of touching mine. "They're just words. Stories told by idle minds. They cannot possibly hurt you."

A bitter laugh escaped me. With a slow shake of my head, I looked away from her, pulling my arms tight to my chest as though the pressure alone could slow my racing heart. "Words hold great power, Christine. We both know what they are capable of. I have no desire to traverse those dark corridors once more." Swallowing the knot in my throat, I took a steadying breath. "You do not have to lie to benefit me."

"Lie?" She stepped closer. "What lie?"

"Best thing that ever happened to you." I shot her a pained glance to find her slowly turning aside from me.

"That … was not a lie, Erik." Her gaze fell to the refuge of her feet, hands clasped before her.

"Your marriage … " I offered confused. When she didn't react to that I tried again. "The birth of Charles?"

"Ahh … the birth of our son." I knew not where it originated from, but the smile bore a bitterness. From the side, I discerned her eyes gradually grew wistful. "You could hardly imagine, Erik … all that time waiting, wondering. How would he look? Nine months I waited, wondering what I bore. I do not remember the pain, only the joy when I first saw him. There was his flawless little face with every feature I imagined you to have in my dreams. It was as though heaven made right the fate which had fallen upon you. Those brown eyes, I slid my hand over one and there you were, staring up at me."

My heart caught in my throat. My mind heard every unbelievable word she spoke but I was unable to respond.

"I knew at that moment what I was certain of all that time." She closed her eyes. "I could never have named him directly after you. The name of your father you divulged to me, was the closest I could come without suspicion. Oh Erik." She turned to look up at me, deep into my eyes. "You gave me the greatest gift in all the world. And I can never repay you."

I was still reeling when the wall caught me. Her longing gaze held me. Was I really seeing this or just seeing what I wanted to see? Did I truly want to see this? I couldn't tell. More emotions exploded within me in that single moment than I knew a man capable of possessing.

"So you see, I did not lie." Her smile deepened as she closed the distance between us. "It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Chris … Christine … I—"

"Hush." She held up a hand just shy of brushing my chin. "No words are needed. Just promise me you will not vanish again."

I hung my head, a hesitant nod was all I could muster. Taking a deep lungful of the humid spring air I softly suggested, "You should return … the others will begin to talk if we return together. I will be along in a moment, I promise."

After the door closed behind her, I looked to the bright blue sky once more. My world was spinning at a maddening pace. I had to pull myself together. Instincts warned me to go to ground, to flee from this before I could not escape the consequences of my actions. But I saw it in her eyes, it was there. It had to be there … I could not resist.

* * *

The door closed behind the last singer to leave the auditorium. I sat on the bench with my knees drawn up to my chest, forehead resting on them and deep in thought. I felt as though I had nothing left. Too many times in these last few days the scenery had changed in a jarring fashion. I was finding even the extraordinary capabilities of my mind struggling to sort it all out.

"I was going to invite you to listen to Damrosch with the orchestra, but I can see you have had a long enough day already."

I offered a weary smile up at Carnegie. "Thank you for the invitation, but I find myself at a point where if I do not walk home, I will not make it there of my own volition." Leaning back against the closed keyboard, I shifted my feet to make room for him as he gestured to sit beside me.

"Erik, how do you have the patience to deal with all that?" He rolled his head. "I came in late to see you handling those prima donnas with such a firm hand. I had been warned by Walter that such tantrums came with the stage."

"Ahh, well it is not always something best handled by grace." I reached back and took the glass to moisten my dry throat once more. "And in truth, often times grace is not something they deserve."

It was always good to hear him laugh. I found a kinship in this strangely trusting man. A part of me yearned to divulge my secret to him. The wiser part of me told the former to shut it. "Tell me you have decided to grace the stage, Erik. Let me know what it is you wish to do, please."

"Andrew, you are trying to use my exhaustion against me, clever man." I wagged a finger at him. "In truth, the day has not left me much time to consider your request. Let me sleep on it. I will have your answer tomorrow."

"Is that a promise?" His eyes were brimming with hope.

"Indeed it is."

He extended a hand to confirm the deal. Cautiously, I extracted my own and offered the gesture in return. A clasp of warmth with two broad, but weary smiles. "Now, let me tell you of the further plans I have for this place … this building that shall become the cultural focal point of New York! Oh Erik, it shall be marvelous—"

"Erik? Are you still here?"

I swung around toward the wing door to find a very distraught Christine pushing through. Breathless, her face flushed, she had clearly run all the way back here from her hotel. "Christine! Whatever is the matter?" Both Carnegie and myself climbed to our feet and stepped toward her.

"Have you seen Charles?" she begged in desperation.

I shook my head. "No, not since yesterday. Why, should I have?"

Panic overwhelmed her. "Oh God, Erik! I cannot find him anywhere! He was supposed to be with Raoul. I came up to our rooms to find him passed out on the bed. I couldn't wake him! Charles was nowhere in sight. He's not in our rooms. He's not around the hall … Erik! You have to help me find him!"

Requiring no further bidding, I snatched up my coat from the bench as I barked orders at Carnegie. "Spread the word that Madame Daae's son is missing. Eight years old, fair skinned, lean, with brown eyes and dark hair. Send word if anyone finds him! Send someone to my house to inform Nadir of the boy's disappearance!" I did not wait for a response for I knew the man well enough. Anyone on site who could would be spared would be turned out to find the boy.

Once outside, my strides carried me out into the cobblestone streets, eyes searching every crevice in the growing evening. "Where might he have gone—your husband, I mean? We need to narrow down where he might have been close to."

Christine's frantic gaze darted every direction as we came to each intersection along 57th street. "Drinking, gambling … Oh Erik, he can't have forgotten Charles in those areas!" Instinctively I had headed west toward the Hudson River.

"Let us hope not, but it sounds like a logical place to start." I scowled, my heart racing as we tore down the street calling out his name without a reply. I wanted to find Raoul and pound him into the cobble stones, but not now. Locating the boy and ensuring his safety was more important now. We crossed 9th avenue with no reply to our calling. 10th avenue's shadows yielded nothing more than a drunkard whose collar I briefly seized for a brutal interrogation before I realized the man was so inebriated he couldn't even see straight let alone recall glimpsing a young boy. Discarding him carelessly back into the heap he collapsed in, I launched back into the dimly lit corridors turning south onto 11th avenue into the seedier district.

Rounding the corner, I was accosted by a harlot. "What a fine coat you have, Gov'nor. Come for a little tryst?"

The moment I faced her, she shrank back. I had no time to school her in manners. "A young boy, have you see a child of around eight years of age?"

With a swift shake of her head, she covered her bare shoulder and retreated from my presence, heading north with a wary glance. Southward, I was weaving my gaze over the idle crowds that gathered behind the dockside pubs.

"Charles! Where are you?" Christine's voice was breaking, bent on hysterics.

Casting a reassuring glance over my shoulder, I called out. "We will find him. Charles!" I threw my voice as far as I could, ears straining, hoping for a reply. The thus far fruitless search drove me to run ever faster. I found it increasingly difficult not to inadvertently leave her behind.

"Charles!" She screamed out to the sky above. The fear embodied in that maternal cry froze me in my tracks. In the heartless streets, sweet Christine was being throttled by her panic. She was about to collapse from grief.

That's when my ear caught it. Down by the docks of the Hudson River, the sounds of a scuffle and the frightened cry of a young boy.

"Charles!" Hell bent, I tore off in the direction of that cry. A few short blocks away I rounded the corner of a waterfront pub to see Charles caught between the clutches of two drunk sailors. All of the sudden the boy lost his footing and plummeted with a splash into the dark waters.

"NOOOO!" I wasted no time decelerating. Upon reaching the end of the dock I flung myself headlong into the deep. The cold water of the Hudson River hit me with a shock, sharp needles driving into my skin as I pulled frantically with each stroke. I had entered right into the middle of the ripple Charles had left behind. He had to be below me, somewhere! Groping in the darkness, I struggled against the weight of my wool suit as it dragged me down. My lungs already ached under the pressure. I had not gotten a good breath but would not return to the surface without the boy.

The brush of something against my left hand stole my attention. I grasped the cold stiff surface. My fingers found the all to familiar angles of my mask. My right hand shot to discover my face naked, instinct drove me to return the shield.

No time!

Charles!

Casting the inanimate object to the deep, I left it to sink into the darkness. My now free hands resumed their desperate search. At last my hand once more brushed against an object; warmer, softer this time. I had to sweep three times before I located it again. A hand. Closing mine around it, I pulled his small form to my chest and began to surge up towards the surface. Every muscle stung in the water. Every effort to pull against the weight that threatened to keep me in the depths was excruciating. But I refused to relent. This boy had to breathe air! At last I broke the surface, coughing and gasping as I oriented myself to the faint light cast by the dock's lanterns. I held him tight, resting his head against my shoulder above the water. I could not tell for certain, but he didn't seem to be breathing. Get him to the dock. Get him to dry land. One thing at a time!

Nadir's waiting hand reached down and pulled the boy from my arms. Still fighting to get my breath back, I hauled my exhausted body from the brackish water. Unmasked, with rivulets pouring down my thin body, I could only imagine my resemblance to some sea monster from the deep. I wasted no time. Once on my feet I stumbled to the boy. Placing my hand on his chest I confirmed my worst fear. He wasn't breathing!

"No." I yelled. "Breathe Charles, come on, you have to breathe!" Turning him on his side I slapped a hand against his back repeatedly. "You have to breathe!" Not now, I had just met him. This was my son! No. He can't be taken now! Not like this. I wouldn't let it be like this!

Dimly I was aware of Christine's muffled sobbing behind me, Nadir's voice consoled her as I attempted to thrash life back in the boy.

"Breathe, damn you!" I cried out pushing harder against his small body, careless of the force which could have broken him. "Do not do this to me now! Breathe!"

A feeble cough issued from the boy followed by an explosion of water exiting his lungs and mouth.

"Thank GOD!" Christine cried out and rushed to embrace the still unconscious boy tightly to her breast. She rocked him back and forth, sobbing. "Thank God!"

Shooting to my feet, I turned to the deserted direction the thugs must have gone. "Now they will pay!"

"Oh my God! He's bleeding!" Christine's hysterical cry halted me in my tracks. I looked back to find a large red stain spreading across the boy's damp chest. "Erik! Help him!"

Torn, I stood riveted to the spot, uncertain what to do when I felt the pressure of Nadir's hand on my chest. "Erik, the boy needs your help. I will find those responsible." When I hesitated, he pushed me toward Christine. "Priorities! You're the best one to see to his wounds! Go! Take the carriage I brought and get him quickly home!"

Numb with shock, I swooped down beside her. "Give the boy to me," I demanded. "We will take the carriage back to my house. It is closer than your hotel."

Wordlessly she nodded, laying his chilled body in my arms. My hand applied pressure to the wound. Not a word was spoken as we climbed into my brougham and raced down the darkened streets to my home. Hardly waiting for it to stop, I pushed the door open and carried my precious cargo upstairs to my study. Laying him out on the couch, I ripped the shirt open to find the blood's source, a long knife wound. The welling blood made it difficult to discern how severe it was.

"Christine." I didn't look up from the boy's chest. "I am going to need your help."

"Will he be alright?" She fought back a sob.

"Not now." Removing my coat, I mopped up some of the blood with it, trying to see how bad it really was. "I mean, do not ask that now. I need that candle over there. The knife on the desk, a needle and thread on that shelf. Then there is a vial in my bed chamber through that door, on the nightstand. Bring that here."

In rapid succession, the items I asked for arrived. The wound was deep, and the blood coming fast. Heating the needle in the flame, I drew a ragged breath. "Ok, my boy. If you can hear me, I am sorry but this is going to hurt."

Painstakingly, I drew the edges of the wound together keeping the stitches tight and small. Blood seeped in between them, coloring my once black coat a deceptive red as I employed it to control the flow. It seemed like forever before I finished closing the wound and only a slight trickle of blood remained. My hands, the rug, my once white shirt were all drenched with his blood. He was pale and still chilled from the water. "There is a blanket in the other room, bring it here." While she went to fetch my comforter, I settled the boy higher onto the couch cushions. Blessedly, he was still unconscious. I only hoped he had not felt the needle. Forcing his mouth open. I poured a little liquid down his throat from the vial.

"Here." She pressed the blanket into my hands, her voice still numb as she watched the slow rise and fall of his delicate chest. Gently I wrapped him up, sealing in what little warmth he had left. "He'll be alright, tell me he will be alright." It was a mother's desperate plea.

Lost in the numbing shock, I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I have done what I can. He needs to lie still now. Let the bleeding stop."

Cradling his head to her, she silently wept. "Thank you, Erik."

Only now did I realize I was shivering. Whether from the chill of the Hudson's water or the near loss of the boy … my son … I could not distinguish. I staggered across the room and quite literally fell into a chair, my eyes staring out into the distance for who knows how long. I failed to hear Nadir return. His hand upon my shoulder jolted me from my stupor.

"They have been apprehended." His voice was soft, his eyes watching the mother and her son. Christine's head rested upon his, her arms wrapped around him as they both slept. "I tracked them easily enough from some witnesses." He swallowed before casting a glance to me. "The boy … ?"

I shuddered. "I did all I could. The wound was deep and jagged. He has lost so much blood. Nadir … I do not know if … " I couldn't finish.

Nodding solemnly, he gestured to the door of my bedchamber. "If he is stable for now, I will watch over him. You have my word. Get some sleep, I fear the fight for his life is not over. He will need you."

Staggering to my feet, I fumbled my way almost blindly to the door of my room. I made it as far as the edge of my bed before it took me. Complete collapse. Sobbing into the folds of the pillow, I tried to drown the cries that erupted from deep within me. Why had fate seen fit to gift me with a son only to threaten to take him just as swiftly! Hold the object to the light, but dash it back into darkness lest it ignite and burn away … forever.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

Even before I opened my eyes, I could tell the oppressive heat had not abated. Through the open window, a lazy breeze stretched out and brushed against my naked face. I lay sprawled on my side under the covers. They were lighter somehow. Oh yes, that was right, my comforter was missing. Taking a deep breath I shifted my arm, only to be rewarded with the burning from every fiber I had abused. Curiously, I tested limb after limb to discover each one complained just as loudly. The sour scent of salt water lingered as I took a deep breath. It wasn't difficult to decide not to move for a bit longer. It hurt too much. Apparently in my haste, I had hit the water a little harder than I had recalled last night. Simply astonishing what adrenaline can conceal.

Cracking open my eyes, I lay still, just breathing in the fragrance of the linen sheets. I had been too exhausted to close the embroidered curtains that draped my elaborately carved oak four poster bed. By candlelight the golden threaded phoenixes seemed in flight as they reflected the glow. My thoughts wandered back to the night before. Blood, water, crying, anger, fear, adrenaline … my body felt as if I had been crushed beneath the weight of the entire Paris Opera itself. Once more I tried to gather the will to move and failed.

Soft voices outside my cracked bedchamber door captured my attention; intense, hushed whispers in the study. "I can't believe he let this happen. They nearly died! I nearly lost them both. Did you see?" Christine's voice was a mixture of fury and panic. "He still hasn't woken up … and Erik. Oh God! He was underwater so long I swore that river would swallow them both. Do you think he is alright? The way he dove in … did you hear the impact?"

"I'm sure he's fine." I recognized that tone from Nadir, that fatherly nurturing tone he employed to serve as a balm to troubled spirits. It always managed to grate on my nerves. "Christine, please cease your endless pacing and sit down. You know Erik well enough. He is nothing if not resilient. Even more so these days. He swears that hell itself refuses to let him enter. I daresay he believes himself immortal."

"Nadir," her words were muffled by what I assumed to be her hands. "This has gone too far … the harm he has done. At first it was only to himself. But now … I could not bear to have this happen again. I could not wake him. I tried, but I could not wake him from where that bottle led."

"The Vicomte?" His voice was edged with quiet concern, "Does he do this often?" There was no sound in reply, but I had my suspicion she had nodded. "Oh Christine, you poor child."

"He almost died—" Her voice was choked off. "Because the fool was too drunk, Charles will be scarred for life. What am I to do?"

"Shh. We'll think of something."

"What if Erik hadn't been there? What then? I never would have been able to find Charles."

A long silence passed before I heard steps toward my door.

Christine's hushed voice intensified. "What is it?"

"I need to wake Erik. Something is wrong." He rapped a knuckle on the door, calling softly in a tone meant to rouse without startling me. He knew too well the danger in that. "Erik? Are you awake?"

I exhaled wearily, "Yes." A slight moan escaped me as I reached over to the nightstand to find a mask waiting there. My arm protested every minute motion of the action. From the doorway, I marked Nadir begin to rush toward the bed concern showing over my stiff movement. "I am alright, Daroga. Just give me a moment." Extracting myself from under the covers I tried to keep my breathing as close to normal as possible. Once I was seated upright I inquired, "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, he kept his voice down so only I would hear. "The boy, he is with fever."

My own aching limbs forgotten, I hastily cast aside the tangle of blankets and snatched my robe on the way out the door. Kneeling down beside the couch, I laid the back of my hand against the boy's forehead. Even before I contacted the skin I could feel the rising heat by proximity alone. It wasn't as high as I had witnessed on others before, but he was clearly not well. His complexion was flushed. Pulling back the blanket, I stared at the puffy jagged row of stitches that sprawled across his small rib cage. The wound was angry and pink, swollen around the stitches. Eyes roving every which way in thought, I scrambled over the events of last night. Had I forgotten something in my haste? There had been so much blood. That was what I had been worried about. The long gash was a constant source of vital fluid. My coat lay discarded in the corner, likely now stiff from the dried blood. Scratching the back of my neck I was at a loss.

"Erik … " Christine laid her hand on the boy's forehead. She was fighting to remain calm. Every mother knew what a fever meant to a young child. "What's wrong with him?"

I shook my head. "We have to bring the fever down … " Running my finger alongside the swollen wound I froze, I threw my head back. "Idiot! How could I have forgotten! Erik, you insufferable fool! Nadir … get me that blade on the desk and the candle. Damn it!" I needed to push against the couch to lever myself up. On a mission, I went straight for the decanter. Other things would work, but this was the only source within sight. I had been driven so much by the need to stop the flow of blood, I had neglected to clean the wound when I sealed it. Bringing the entire crystal decanter with me, I dashed back to his side just as Nadir placed the candle and the blade beside me.

Christine's hand encircled Charles;s smaller one. "What are you doing?" Unfortunately, he was beginning to stir, his eyelids flickering open.

Now was not the time for him to wake up. I reached into the pocket of my robe to be rewarded with the soft clink of two objects against one another. Closing my fingers around one of the vials I pulled it out. I had conveniently left them there for my own use. Pulling the stopper out, I gently opened his mouth and poured the contents down his throat. While waiting for him to drift back to sleep, I began to hold the blade down in the hottest part of the flame. "Christine." My tone was firm and as calm as I could force it. "You need to hold him still. Please. He cannot move."

"Mo … mother?" Charles moaned. "My stomach hurts." It should have started to take effect. "Moth—" His voice cut out as he turned his head to the side and wretched all over the floor, narrowly missing the decanter. Silently cursing, I knew by the stain on my rug that not enough had entered his system to have produced the desired effect.

Her eyes locked onto mine as she ran a hand through his sweat drenched hair. "Shhh, my Angel." I swallowed at the choice of word she used. Angel. "You must lay still now. You've been hurt. Shh, lie still."

Tendrils of smoke curled around the blade. It was nearly ready. But I was not. There was no way this would not hurt him now. "Charles … you need to be brave, my boy. I am sorry, but there is no way to do this without pain."

"M … mother?" He repeated feebly.

I took the lid from the decanter in preparation. A bead of sweat rolled behind my mask. The blade hovered over the first stitch. I fought to steady my breathe, to steel myself.

How could I? I had to cut the boy. I had to cut my son. Before another thought could register, my other hand snatched the decanter from the floor and I took a deep swallow of the dark whiskey. The sensation as it scorched down my throat nearly made me cough.

His brown eyes searched me, confused, frightened, fever bright. He did not know what was happening to him and I had no voice to explain it.

Over my left shoulder, I glimpsed Nadir as he took a rigid step forward. His eyes darted between the boy's and my own mismatched brown eye. After a glance at Christine's blue eyes, he took a sharp breath in. "Dear God … "

"Not one more word!" I snapped sharply. The boy must not be told. Not now. I glanced up to Christine. "Brace him."

She held his hands tightly as I grazed the hot blade into the angry stitches. As gently as I could I freed two at a time, spacing them so the remaining stitches held fast. Puss oozed out of each opening that now ceased to impede the flow. With swift motions I blotted the fluid away, pushing on the swollen skin as lightly as I could. Charles whimpered, struggling a little where he was held.

Lifting the decanter, I looked at the dark liquid calling to mind how much it had burned going down my throat. Sliding my hand over the boy's forehead I spoke softly, "I am so sorry, Charles. This will burn, but I have to do it. Hold on a little longer." His eyes were studying me. Through the pain and confusion I saw trust. As swiftly as I could, I drenched the wound with the remainder of the spirits leaving the poor boy wailing out at the sting.

"Shhh." Christine embraced him tighter as he thrashed in her arms. "Shhh, please don't struggle. Shhh, my little Angel, shhh. Hush now."

Hot tears coursed down his face. Wordless cries rent the air. All I could do was wait for the nerves to cease their torment. Setting the crystal on the floor, I watched his breathing slowing as Christine's gentle hand stroked his fevered brow.

"Here." Once the worst of his cries had subsided I handed her the second small vial, hoping this one would stay in him. "Make him swallow this. It will help him sleep now."

She never hesitated. Trusting me she placed the vial to his lips and helped him swallow. "Rest now, my brave Angel. Rest." Tearing up strips of linen I dressed the wound. Minutes crawled onward before his weary eyes shut once more, and tension drained from his body. Charles was gone to another world under the influence of the strong sleeping draught. His face, that flawless face. Would that have been mine had it not been for the curse I was born to? I would never know.

Beside me, Nadir lifted the empty crystal decanter with a trembling hand. His wide eyed stare locked. "Erik—that was expensive whiskey." His voice was numb. "There is no more in the cellar. You used all of it."

Twisting to the side, I let my back rest against the couch, my hand on the boy's wrist as I felt his heartbeat dragged down by the effects of my home brew. "Priorities, Nadir. It served a better purpose in cleansing the wound. I can procure more for you."

"But … that was special imported whiskey." He shook his head. "It's like your opium … I need it, Erik."

I held up a hand. "He needed it more. Now, no more talk of this." I stood up with a hiss as my core protested. I leaned heavily on the arm of the couch for a moment until my weary frame supported itself. "There are more important matters."

Nadir shot a glance toward the mother and son. "In that you are right. What are we going to do? They cannot possibly stay here."

"Really?" Against the tension, I forced myself to stand a little straighter. "The boy cannot be moved. Just what do you suggest in your remarkable wisdom?"

Her hands still combing through Charles's hair, Christine flicked a worried glance towards me.

"Erik, be reasonable." He threw his hands to the window over his shoulder. "The scandal … I mean—Christine is married. Not to mention your own reputation. Honestly, your activities already warrant unwelcome interest. She can't stay here."

I folded my arms across my chest and fixed him with a firm glare. "They are not leaving here until the boy is well enough." I bit off each word, hoping he would get the hint and just drop the conversation.

Nadir shook his head. "For heaven's sake, what will happen when the Vicomte comes looking?"

With a swift motion born of fury, I snatched the knife from the arm of the couch where I had left it and drove it point first into the end table's hard wood, knocking all the other contents to the floor. "They are not leaving!" I shouted, "That is final!"

He staggered back, his eyes widened by the shock of my sudden resolve.

Forcing the volume back down, I kept my eyes boring into him in the manner I had employed in years past when I was compelled to get my way. I could see thread by thread snapping as his ability to resist was stripped away. "My boy's safety was compromised by that drunken insolent fool. I will not permit that to happen again. Is that understood?" He nodded slowly, tentatively. "Somehow I trust Christine would agree the boy is in better hands here, am I correct? Christine, do you wish to go back now?"

Her bloodshot eyes met mine and I noted relief in them as she cradled Charles to her, looking for all the world like he might vanish again if she let him go for even a moment. "Thank you for permitting us to stay, Erik." Was all she whispered. It was all she had to say.

I turned slowly back to Nadir, my glare still full and commanding. "It is settled. They stay. Not another word of this. I care nothing for the scandal of rumor." Shedding the manipulation, I brought my attention to Christine. The poor woman was ragged and sorely in need of rest. "Christine, my dear. He is soundly sleeping now. I will watch over him. Please, go and rest yourself … " But where? Surely not here in my study. We had no guest room as I had justifiably assumed we would never have company. Looking towards the door of my room I gestured softly. "You may be assured of privacy in my chambers."

Her smile betrayed her weariness as she leaned forward to lay a kiss upon his pale brow. "Be brave, little Charles. Rest now, I will not be far." Her hand slid down his arm as she walked by him. Her steps were halting and slow as she glided through the door to disappear behind it.

Nadir's whispered voice broke the silence. "I don't believe it … " He looked down at my son stretched out on the couch.

My gaze fell upon the boy as I swore, "I will not vouch for Raoul's safety if e'er we cross paths." Collecting another piece of linen, I dipped it into a pitcher of water and drew it over the boy's forehead watching the beads trickle down.

Nadir's eyes searched over us as I tucked the comforter back under my son's chin. Across the room he fell back into a chair. "Erik, I know you don't want to hear this … but you must be careful."

"Like the Vicomte?" I pulled the blade from the table with a savage jerk. "The man whose negligent actions forced me to hurt the son I only just learned existed? Honestly, tell me, what mercy does that cur deserve?"

He gazed wearily to the floor as though it would hold an answer, his eyes resting on the ruined ornate rug now stained with a mixture of blood and vomit. The heat of the day was already beginning to increase the foul odor.

The echo of a knock at the front door stole my attention. I spun on my heel without another word to Nadir and descended the steps to the dark entryway. Passing a servant on the way, my glare was enough to cause her to withdraw back into the room she had been coming from. Opening the door I looked down to find Sam, one of the younger errand boys from the work site. He took a step back, having always been intimidated by me though I had given him no direct cause. "Master Erik?" His voice was tentative. "You left your cloak at the hall the other night." In his shaking hands the folds of my full cloak with its black wool and tailored red silk lining dwarfed his adolescent frame.

"I had departed in haste." I replied distractedly, reaching out the door to relieve him of it.

"We know … Sir … " Swallowing, his wide eyes darted to glimpse at the staircase in my foyer behind me. "Master Carnegie sent us searching. Was he found, the boy?"

I nodded, more interested in getting back upstairs than idle prattle with the messenger. "Send word to Carnegie that I shall be unable to make it to the hall today. The boy will require constant tending. Madame Daae will also be absent for obvious reasons. The lady and her son will require some fresh clothing. Send someone to fetch some of their belongings and bring them here. She should not be troubled by such an errand."

Taking a step backwards, Sam seemed eager to flee. His eyes cast back and forth between my own. I was uncertain just how much he had retained of my instructions. Ending the pointless search was easy enough. I shut the door on him. Returning the cloak to the hook by the door, I mounted the staircase one step at a time. My thoughts spiraled in every direction all at once. Within me a distant and familiar sensation welled. Dark and foreboding—the memory of a voice I had banished long ago whispered, beckoning me, promising me … all I had to do was but answer it. The voice of the creature I had once been. The demon who held the power to force others to his demented will teased me to let it out once more. Closing my hand tight on the stair railing, I felt my nails grind against the cold stone. No, I had exiled that beast. I had cut him out and cast him away to the bleak days of that past to wallow in the memory. To release him once more would be my undoing. For ten years I had managed to gradually establish some resemblance of a life, as much of one as a man whose face could not be revealed to the light of day could ever hope to expect.

Still caught in the daze, I wandered back into the study lingering for a moment in the doorway. On my desk resided the plans for the Music Hall, thick stacks of papers so numerous they were threatening to cascade onto the floor. Drawn to the obsession of my past few years, I found myself looming over the desk. Each mark on the pages was a testament to the glorious dream of a few dedicated men. The promises were now etched in the stone walls of the structure I had invested both blood and sweat in. It had been my entire dream, my goal, my triumph. There had been nothing more I had yearned for, nothing more I had hoped to desire … until now.

Retracting my hand from the plans, my gaze shifted toward my son sleeping on the couch. A structure of flesh and bone, he was so young and impressionable. The world had not shunned him as it had me. I had not known of this creation of mine. I had not even considered it possible he had come into existence. It was as if turning around to discover there was a void I had not noticed had been at my side all along. What was he like … my son?

This could not end well. The world was still a cruel place, prone to the destruction of anything pure. Whether I cared about the scandal or not, words would begin to be exchanged and Christine would bear the worst of them. My own life would be invaded once more. Eventually I would be forced to run and hide. The Music Hall would open soon. Could I let that glorious achievement be marred by this scandal? Could I place the success of the Music Hall in the balance? Years of planning, a year of construction, we stood at the threshold.

But the Music Hall was eternal stone, it would stand for ages to come. Surely the strong walls would outlast the aftershock. How long would I have to be with my son before fate stole him from my sight?

Unbidden, I found my feet carrying me across the room to his side. His breathing came in a slow and deep pattern, common to the state of unconsciousness. I closed my eyes and just listened to him, grounding myself to that rhythm. Was he musically talented like his mother? Was he artistic like me … which hand did he favor, the left like mine or was it Christine's benevolent right? Opening my eyes I saw him fully for the first time, a fusion of a desperate night long ago that was to be our last together. That night I had surrendered the childish will of that monster the world had forged me into, the beast whose claws groped to hold fast to the one possession I would have given everything for. In a moment's clarity, after embracing her for one passionate moment, I set her free to a life in the world of daylight where she belonged. For nearly ten years now I obsessively clung to the memory, convinced I should never again stand within her presence.

How had this come to pass? I had far more questions than answers.

"Are you listening to me?" Nadir's voice broke through my thoughts. Apparently he had been lecturing me for some time.

"No." I replied distantly. Drifting off towards the Stradivarius, I retrieved the violin along with the strings and tools I needed to repair the damage I had inflicted upon it. Too close to the situation, it was vital for me to disconnect and to do so my hands required preoccupation. The task of restringing the instrument was repetitive and time consuming, allowing me to keep watch on Charles. Placing the violin in my lap, my nimble fingers drew out the split E string.

A long weary sigh escaped my well-intentioned friend. "I may as well be speaking to the stone. I will leave you to your thoughts." Getting up, he retreated down the stairs to his own room.

Careful lest I cut myself on the finest of the four strings, I gently freed the remainder of the catgut from the tuning peg. Casting aside the frayed remnants of the string, I let my mind drift over the many losses throughout my long years. Relationships painstakingly built only to end in loss and pain. The mother I had desired to only embrace me … she had gone to her grave without so much as having kissed me once. Giovanni, the elderly stone mason who had patiently inspired me to create before his impertinent daughter disrupted our quiet trust. Her tragic death cost me that comforting refuge at the old man's hearth. Garnier whom I spent over a decade with, diligently crafting that glorious tribute to music in Paris. Once the Opera had been completed we parted ways when the world's harsh judgment drove me to ground once more. I had further slighted him when my rash temper nearly razed the entire structure to the ground. Christine . . . the grandest of my follies. I lost her heart in the same action that nearly destroyed the temple of music.

Locking the new string into place, I stretched it across the bridge and up the neck to the tuning peg before the scroll. Slipping the end through the hole I gently wound it while plucking the catgut until I perceived it was close to the correct tone.

The A string slid out next as I replaced it in the same fashion. My idle mind wandered through the painstaking steps I had taken to distance myself since exiling myself to America. The trip had been abysmal aboard the ocean liner. At no small cost to pride, Nadir had bribed our way aboard to be shipped much like cargo. It had been the surest way to avoid immigration. The cost of secrecy was nothing short of extortion! It was the sole reason I entered America in a state close to a pauper, save for the possessions I had maintained. This very instrument had undergone the journey at my side, the only relief to our solitude among the crates. My pride sacrificed, I set foot on the shores of Manhattan to discover a need for skilled contractors. Yes, this meant I was forced to chance meetings with potential clients. Fortunately my skills became rumored to be extraordinary enough for Shadowcrest Industries to gain prestige. In time, men willingly risked reputation to be spied entering into a contract with me. Here I wanted to create, and only that!

Vain attempts to forgive and forget the past had gradually become a compromise. The cruel eyes of the world stared and reviled me. The harsh hands struck and bound me as a beast to be restrained. Insults rained down … I must be the devil, a demon, a creature born of great sin because of the face I had been condemned to bear all the days of my life. Most men went through their daily lives without a thought for their safety. I, on the other hand, was forced to live in constant vigilance in a world that had been all to consistent in reminding me I had no place in it.

Moving onwards to the D string, my fingers required no instructions from my preoccupied mind. The Music Hall, this great masterwork, had presented itself as an opportunity I could not refuse. She was a project sorely needed in this new world. The epic cultural center of this city, she could have been built by none other than a man who comprehended the nature of sound waves to their finest detail. Other clients had sought my hand in contracts, but once Carnegie and I shook hands, I accepted no other work. This hall had been my sole focus for the better part of three blessed years.

Removing the final string I sighed as the tension ebbed from my body. From the drafts to the blow of each mallet stroke, this project had utterly consumed my life as I had willed it, dedicating every worker employed at Shadowcrest to bring this child to birth. Within her hallowed halls I had found refuge from the scornful world and a certain sense of purpose among the men who were dedicated to her cause. Plucking the strings to fine tune them to each other I smiled … so close.

We were painfully close to the hall's opening night.

Drawing the bow across the strings, I let the first subtle notes tremble in the air. Permitting my fingers to play at their will, I closed my eyes to the notes of a melody I had first experienced on a gypsy night in my youth. The somber lullaby's gentle roll flowed from within me directly into the body of the newly strung violin. The scent of the bonfires that flickered in the camps each night drifted up from my distant memory. There was a beauty to those people that much of society was unaware of, seeing only the vulgar facade they made public to the world. For a time, I had been a somewhat reluctant part of their company. On the fringe of their camp I became witness to a culture frequently cast out. Much of my knowledge of the unique effects of plants came from those captive years. The sweet lonely trill of their music made one feel at ease, at least it did for me. The bow in my hands served as a messenger, caressing the strings of my distant past and gently entwining them with the present. I was lost in the music as I had not been in years, releasing my soul into the wooden voice box. Grace and longing; a balm in the midst of a raging winter storm. I played to quell the stirrings within me.

The last note hung in the air, trembling sweetly as I pulled the bow as slowly as possible. How long could I maintain that tremulous sound? As I reached the end of the bow I lifted it from the strings and let the silence descend. I had been in a whole nother world, closed off by will and want. I gently lay the instrument down with a reverent smile and a silent thank you. Opening my eyes, my peripheral vision caught a slow motion, a hand reached towards me.

Instinct flared up. Too many years of facing constant threats upon my life had honed natural reactions that could not simply be suppressed. Spinning on my heel, I lashed out with my left arm only to feel a bolt of pain dart from deep inside my chest to shoot down the limb. My breath was expelled from my lungs as it felt like someone dropped an immense block of stone on me. Doubling over from the sudden jolt of pain, I emitted a horrified rasp as my body hit the floor. It was familiar, this sensation. Years ago, in Paris. But it hadn't troubled me in years! Grasping my arm to my body, I fought for a breath but my tight chest wouldn't expand. The sound of my heartbeat irregularly slammed in my ears.

Struggling, I pulled my nearly sightless gaze from the floor in an effort to discover what had triggered this unusual reaction. Steps from me, she stood with her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in terror. "Erik! Oh my God, what's wrong?"

I tried to speak, her name was mangled by my lack of air.

Leaning forward, she reached towards my prone body.

"No!" I gasped out. "No … If … you … touch me … I …" Unable to draw enough air I ran out as I tumbled back onto my elbow. Why now? I had to explain to her. I loved her, but I couldn't bear this, not now. If she touched me I knew that monster would surge up within me and … I didn't want to think of what I would do.

"Erik …" She drew back, kneeling on the floor just out of reach. Were those tears coursing down her face for me?

Closing my eyes for a moment, I concentrated all my will power on pushing down the throbbing pain that strangled my ability to breathe. I had to get more air soon, the room beginning to spin. Breath after ragged breath, I forced my body to take in a minute amount more of air each time. The degree of concentration it took was taxing, but I felt it slowly overcoming the restriction.

Opening my eyes, I glanced to Christine to find her still on the floor beside me, her face taught with growing concern. "I … I'm … al … right." One syllable at a time was all my breath would sustain. " … will … be …" I added, as clearly I was still incapable of even drawing half a decent lungful of air.

"What happened?" She whispered.

"Star … startled … me." Damn it, to be able to speak in a sentence again! Inside I seethed with rage at being cast to the floor over such a ridiculously innocent action. "Do not … do … that." I gasped in annoyance, lowering my forehead to the ground, I held my chest tighter. _Go away_ , I snarled at myself!

"I'm sorry." Christine quietly sobbed. "I didn't mean to … it was so lovely. The violin ... to hear you play ... oh Erik, I wasn't sneaking up on you on purpose."

"Sound … " I panted thumping my head on the floor lightly as I cursed the heart in my chest. "Next … time … sounds … " More words would be nice! Gritting my teeth I forced a deep breath. Pain raked into me as I threw every ounce of my will power to force my diaphragm to work properly no matter what it was told. "Argh! That hurt!" But I succeeded in more than a feeble gasp. Feeling my lungs expand, I lifted my head. "Passing now … It still hurts … but I can … breathe."

She leaned toward me reaching even as I drew away. I noted the confusion dwelling in her eyes, but I still lacked enough air to fully explain.

Shaking my head to her I rasped. "Please do not … just leave … me … a moment … longer."

Finally relenting, she sat back, drawing her knees to her chin and looking as a child who had broken an irreplaceable piece of china. She looked so guilty.

Feeling the room shifting a less erratically, I pushed myself up a little more, still cradling my left arm which was feeling warm and numb. The air was passing easier if I concentrated on it flowing slowly. "Has not happened … in years." I let the hoarse words come out, she needed to hear me do something more than gasp for air, to know that the condition was passing. "Not since Paris." Flexing my left hand, I watched the shaking motion and gritted my teeth. The response was dreadfully slow and weak. She watched and I noted a deep swallow as she observed my physical struggle. I glanced towards the couch to see Charles. Get her mind off me, that's what I needed. I lifted my chin ever so slightly toward the boy. "He is still sleeping … will be for sometime. The dose was … made for me, after all."

A graceful twist brought her to her feet as she drifted toward her son. Taking up the cloth on his forehead she dipped it into the cool water and wrung it out, wiping the cloth across his brow. The boy did not even stir.

Utilizing the distraction, I shifted my weight without her noting. I was trying to sit upright, but my body was rebelling, resisting my instructions. Alright, so I would remain on the floor for awhile longer. "Apparently I have overdone it of late." I confessed to myself with a frustrated sigh, supposing I should have been content with a full sentence on a single breath.

To the intermittent sounds of water being wrung out to cool the boy's brow, I heard the soft maternal humming. The melody was none other then the one I had been playing on the violin. Closing my eyes, still feeling the torturous strain in my chest, I concentrated on matching each breath to the calming cadence of the lullaby. Her voice so tender for Charles. I deluded myself into believing just a hint of that soothing refrain was intended for me.

Heavier footsteps approached me, the purposeful stride of Nadir broke through my ragged breathing. Rolling my eyes open I found him bent over beside me. "Erik … " he kept his voice to a hurried whisper. "What happened?"

Still holding my arm to my chest, I took a deep breath and rasped out, "Remember Paris … it is back." I rolled my eyes back to the floor, how I loathed the inability to stand.

"Dear Allah." He laid an arm across my shoulder. "How long ago?"

How should I know? Did it look like I had pulled out my pocket watch to observe the time? I shook my head, unable to grasp how long it had been since I was cast to floor.

"Can you stand?"

"Not without … help." Weakness. Scalding, punishing, shameful weakness.

"Easy now, let's get you off the floor." Nadir reached under my chest, prying my right arm from embracing my left and sliding his shoulder there to lift me. As we rose off the floor the room spun and my vision shot black for a brief moment, my legs giving out so that Nadir was all that had kept me from tumbling back down. "Erik. Stay with me." His voice was stern. No part of my body wanted to obey, every muscle was sluggish and utterly lacking in grace. The effort it took to simply keep my eyes open was pathetic. "A few more steps, almost there." Somehow we had staggered to the padded bench in the five paned bow window. "Let me help you lie down." The world swirled again as I felt the bench rise up to meet me. Once it took my weight, every muscle fiber released, dropping me like a stone into a river. I only continued to breathe, my eyes locked blindly at the ceiling. "I will be back, stay here."

"No choice." I panted.

Dimly I became aware of a presence, a shadow lingering on the edge of my vision. "I really did not mean to startle you." Christine timidly approached my side.

I tried to smile, I hoped I did. "I know." My voice was too soft, powerless. Where had it all gone? "I was lost … "

"Erik?" Unaware, I must have been drifting off. "Please … don't stop speaking. I need to hear you." An edge of quiet panic revealed itself.

"What shall I say?" I was trying to be clever, but honestly my words were failing me. Not just the effort to express them, the sheer ability to put them together was exhausting.

"Anything." She begged. "I don't care. Just let me hear your voice." She held her arms tightly across her chest as her tear stained eyes pleaded with me to resist the blackness that threatened to pull me down once more.

"Ahhh, Christine, my dear child." I exhaled a sigh. "Do not blame yourself for this. It is true … I have been under much strain of late."

"You need to take care of yourself." She replied.

Managing a feeble nod, I felt another twinge in my chest reminding me that fate was not finished punishing me yet. "I have Nadir for that."

"Erik, don't make light of this." Taking a step toward me she hugged herself a little tighter. "If you should die … "

I shut my eyes tightly against another pang, gritting my teeth I spat out, "I already have!"

The clatter of a tea cup against a saucer cut off her reply. Nadir knelt down beside me. "Here, drink this."

Holding my head up he forced the cup to my lips and the hot fluid poured down my throat. Tea, indeed, Russian tea with lemon … and something else. The bitter herbal flavor overtook any hint of the former drink I often partook. I nearly gagged, suddenly more than a little alarmed at the potency. "Nadir … " my eyes widened in surprise. "How much—what did you … " the world shifted violently under me once more. I had grown rather weary of the sensation. Vision blurred as the concoction coursed through my veins stealing my consciousness. What the hell had he done to me?

"I followed your notes to the exact grain." He replied calmly, "Don't fight it, Erik."

 _Fight it? Fight what? Oh my dear friend … did you know what it was for? Which page was it on? Did you just poison me?_

Her muted voice sounded like it drifted through an ocean of water. "What is happening to him?"

"Do not worry, Madame. I have done this before, and have seen him through worse than this. He needs to rest now, and there is no way he would have … willingly."

 _Willingly? You great fool! When did you do this before? Tell me and I swear you will pay for thumbing through my notes! I trusted you, let you share my refuge in this new world! I let you convince me to surrender the one thing I treasured most in the world by risking my life!_

"Erik … stop fighting it. You're only making things worse. Just let go."

 _When I wake up I will kill you._ I wanted to say those words. However, speaking when one is paralyzed by an herbal concoction is even more impossible than speaking with no breath.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

There is something to be said for the scent of a rose. Shakespeare had been quite right to select the flower as a symbol in his great tragic romance. The potent scent of the delicate buds could effortlessly fill an entire room. Beauty, elegance, grace, and strength; I often admired the intricate spiral of the rose bloom. And such a variety of colors. But there was more to this plant. Great care was required when tending to this creation. One must remember they bear thorns that can pierce and tear the thickest of skin. The sheer irony of this plant was what had driven me to install the rooftop garden when I had designed the house. A longing to have an echo of the past, the peaceful nights of Italy in the company of kind hearted Giovanni. The man had had only daughters, no sons. None to pass his trade of stone mason to, until he stumbled upon a vagabond boy and some stroke of bizarre pity had compelled him to extend a hand of friendship to me. As often came of those I had grown close to, tragedy closed that chapter of my life and forced me to leave behind that warm hearth I had very cautiously sidled up to. To this day, the sweet scent of the rose was enough to cast my thoughts back to his beautiful rooftop garden.

It seemed odd to have my waking thoughts drifting to such a distinct and distant time. Taking a deep breath, I was trying to discern if it was the remnant of some dream or if I was just imagining. But the more I forced my sluggish concentration to the task the more I discerned the scent was extraordinarily real. And the source must have been close by. Cracking open my eyes I gazed upon an unexpected sight.

I wasn't in my study.

The same walls. The same furniture. My Steinway piano and the Stradivarius violin still sat in the corner. The breeze toyed with the heavy Merlot brocade curtains. And yet, the persistent state of perpetual chaos that had been my world for longer than I could remember had been diligently cleared away. The drafts for the Music Hall had been removed from the desk, exposing the marble top and neatly slid into the drafting cabinet behind it. My desk had a marble top? Dear heavens, how many years since I had actually seen it. The books and musical scores were shelved and set so all were straight. Each of my automatons and machines had found a neat little nook to be tucked in. The rug had been scrubbed so that only a faint reminder remained. My coat was gone to who knew where, but it no longer lay in a blood covered wad in the corner. Over a dozen vases held flowers scattered all over the place. Did I really have that many vases? Apparently I did. It's amazing what one fails to notice in plain sight. The flowers … where had they come from? Staring at a vase that held a mixture of smokey purple roses, I began to place it.

My rooftop garden!

"Here, drink." A teacup lingered in front my eyes. I glanced up to find Nadir beside me before I lowered my suspicious gaze to the Russian tea. "It's tea, prepared precisely as you like it."

Sitting up on my elbow, I took the cup and gave a tentative sniff. Nothing unusual greeted my senses. But I still offered him a cold testing stare, searching for a sign of betrayal. When I found nothing of the sort, I took an experimental sip. No bitter aftertaste. He hadn't lied … this time. Drinking the rest in a gulp, I set the cup aside and sat all the way up. Each motion was controlled and measured. There was a residual sluggishness and dull ache in each muscle as I tested it. However the overwhelming tension in my chest was gone. I detested lacking even an ounce of my full abilities.

"There, now isn't that better?" Nadir was smiling … briefly.

Finding my hand locked around his throat stole that expression as swiftly as it had appeared. I narrowed my eyes as I closed the distance between our faces to mere inches and hissed out, "If you _ever_ do that to me again I swear it will be your last act upon this earth! Oath or not, Nadir, I promise you that such a trick will end in your tragic demise! You do not touch my notes! Is that understood?"

His eyes were wide, pupils pinpoints of fear. If any knew what I was truly capable of it was this man who had witnessed the Angel of Doom displaying his vulgar creativity for bloodshed before the khanum. To this day, I loathed what that bitch drove me to do in the courts of Persia, all because she had been bored. Frantically, his hands waved in the air, motioning toward the boy sleeping on the couch. He was trying to speak, but his mouth only opened and closed soundlessly.

"Nadir." I growled, my temper seething as I discovered I could overcome the sluggish ache to regain my full strength. "I asked you a question. Answer it!"

It was rather cruel, really. The poor man I held was rendered incapable of a reply. I held his neck too firmly for a nod, and he couldn't get enough breath to speak. If I didn't let him go soon he would be rendered as unconscious as he had me. My grasp was involuntarily tightening as I felt compelled to end his life. I could feel that pulse … a memory of that destructive beast deep within me, sharpening its claws in anticipation of rending its way back into the world again.

A sudden sensation of alarm hit me. What was I doing? Releasing the death grip on his neck, I numbly watched as Nadir fell forward, rubbing his neck and coughing. That had been a strange sensation, like my hand had momentarily been under the influence of something altogether foreign. Though I had intended to make my point, I had not truly wished real harm on him. What had come over me? I had lost control. But to admit that to him would likely frighten him more. Before he could straighten up I forced myself to appear composed.

"Feeling better?" I remarked mockingly, drumming my fingers across a knee.

Nadir's eyes glanced up at me. There was unguarded fear in them. "The boy … for Allah's sake, Erik … don't let the child see that ..."

Smirking, I waved a hand. "Better for him to see you drugging me? Neither act is truly noble. Stop sniveling, I did not even bruise you."

Retreating across the room, he watched me warily. "Much longer and I would have been the one stretched out before the window."

"That was the point." I remarked dryly. "I do not need to stoop to plants to produce results. My hands are all that are required."

"Erik, I was helping you … " He pleaded, "Why do you persist in hurting those who care about you?"

It was the wrong question to ask, and I had perceived he was aware of that fact the moment it left his mouth. Nadir's body stiffened as he braced himself to either attempt to fight me in vain, or flee from the manifestation of my violent temper. Surging from the bench I loomed over him, locking him in the venomous gaze. Familiarity dulls the edge of any effect, from drugs to fears. Over the years Nadir had grown willful under my once hypnotic stare, partially resistant against what would otherwise be full surrender. I could sufficiently chasten him, but he retained his power of speech.

"Erik." Nadir was shrinking before me, his voice trying desperately to reach the more rational side of me. "Erik, you're not like this anymore … this isn't you. For heaven's sake please come to your senses!" Before me he cringed, his eyes closing tightly in anticipation. "Do you really want Charles to see you raging like this?"

No … I didn't. The boy had been through so much. What if he had woken to witness this? I looked to the couch where he, thankfully, still remained blissfully unaware amidst the commotion. Even if he did not know I was his true father, did I want him to learn of this side of me? The very thought was like a cold bucket of water to my boiling temper. The shock forced me out of that crazed mindless frenzy and back into control of my senses. "I did not hurt you, did I?" I consciously suppressed the intensity from my voice, the tone sounded deflated to me by comparison after having once more been drunk on the sheer power I could possess.

He breathed a sigh of relief, eyes opening to study me for verification that I had truly reined myself in this time. After all, how many times had he needed to remind me we had company before it had completely registered? Nadir must have been satisfied with what he saw as he slowly stood up, smoothing the front of his coat. "Not really."

I hoped it was the truth. "Good … too much has been changing around me." It sounded like an excuse, but it was true. The pressure of a building near completion, the reemerging legend of my dark past as the phantom of the opera, the unexpected rendezvous with Christine, the complete shock of learning about the child … my world had been utterly turned on its head in the last few days. Which reminded me. "Tell me, how did the rooftop garden find its way into my study?"

Nadir's gaze shifted around the room before coming to a rest on me. "The lady was in need of something to do while you both slept, thus she started to clean the rug. After she finished there I did not have the heart to stop her. One area led to the next until she had practically reorganized the entire room. Having uncovered the buried vases she asked me if there was anywhere she might find some flowers." He shrugged. "I showed her the rooftop garden. Honestly, Erik, I did not expect her to bring them _all_ down here. But she insisted that in the heat they would wilt."

Studying the now cut stems I replied morosely, "They will surely wilt now." I had been carefully selecting the blooms I brought down in small numbers to add a little touch of color and scent to the rooms. Now my home resembled a crazed florist's shop.

"Don't be upset with her, her heart was in the right place trying to brighten up the room."

My fingers gently caressed the petals of a blushing white rose that had become part of an arrangement. "Upset is not the correct word." I could not identify the proper word for how I felt. It was a unique mixture like the contents of the vase before me. I was touched that she was doing all this and yet disturbed at having someone else handling my belongings. Certainly my residence, specifically the second story where I spent the majority of my time at home, had always resembled a state of perpetual chaos. But amongst the apparent disarray of my projects in process, I had always known where everything was. Everything had its proper place—out in the open. Casting my eyes back over the room, I released a quiet groan as I pondered how long it would take me to find what I needed when I had need of it? "Where is she now?" I asked.

"Still in the rooftop garden. She had the last vases with her. Daylight has not yet faded, she wanted to finish."

I had more vases? Really? In the end I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me, I possessed a strange quirk for going through exotic import markets and purchasing anything that struck my current fancy. There must have been a vase period back there somewhere. I was even more eccentric than I had realized. "Soon my rooftop will be covered in green flowerless shrubs. How lovely." I released a resigned sigh.

Nadir shrugged. "But the interior has been enhanced by all the blooms."

"Ever heard about the concept of too much of a good thing?" I smirked as he gave a dry little laugh. Wandering over to my desk, I spied an envelope. Slipping it into my hand I sliced it open with the thin bladed letter opener and pulled out the handwritten letter.

"Oh yes, that arrived for you when you where … sleeping." Nadir selected the word carefully.

Reading the letter, slowly I heaved a sigh.

"What is it?"

"Carnegie." I flung the letter to the desk. "He understood the need for my absence today, but regrets to inform me of a most urgent requirement for me to be present on the morrow. He sends his apologies. It appears that Lloyd is still ill. And there have been a few developments the investors need to meet on before the opening nights." I shook my head gesturing to the couch. "The boy cannot be left unattended for that long yet."

Nadir took a step towards Charles. "I can watch over the boy in your stead, Erik. If his condition should change I can send word to the hall swiftly enough. You need to concentrate on one thing at a time right now. Especially with recent events."

I laughed bitterly, "That is something I never do. Surely you know my restless mind by now. How often am I only working with one single goal in mind?"

Casting his eyes towards the ceiling, I knew he was thinking of someone on the rooftop. "Only when obsession steals your senses."

He had me there. " _Touche_." Walking towards my bedchamber, I cast off the robe and proceeded to lay out a fresh suit. I had no clue what had become of my blood soaked coat from the other night, and my personal tailor would likely be quite distraught to see it in the state I had left it in. After all, tailcoats of that quality of wool are not common towels … normally. Sliding on a clean brocade vest of indigo and black shot with silver threads, I pulled the edges together and slipped the buttons through. It had been sometime since I had worn this one, and apparently the recent activities had caused some weight to fall off me. Though it still hung well, I found it a touch loose. Pulling on the coat that went with the set I discovered the same result. If Nadir noted the change, he would insist on stuffing me like a Christmas goose for the next fortnight. I loathed whenever that became his obsession.

Stepping back out of my room whilst snapping on the cuff links I was relieved to see that he had ambled off to somewhere else. Likely his own chambers. Good. I wasn't in the mood to discuss the fourteen course menus he would attempt to fatten me up with. I adjusted the vest a little so it hung better off my shoulders when I felt that strange sensation of being observed. Turning towards the couch, I found Charles's bright blue eyes watching my every move. The eyes were clearer, not glazed by the fever they had shown before. His color was even better.

"Good evening, Charles." It took only a few strides to close the distance to his side. "How are you feeling now?"

He looked so small under the bulk of the down comforter, but there was a stubborn courage in those features that I recognized. The resolve to overcome this trial. A faint smile graced his face as he softly replied, "A little better. My chest is achy, but I'm not so cold now."

Pulling over the ottoman, I sat down beside him and smiled genuinely. "Good. Shall I look and see how things are mending?" When he nodded, I pulled back the blanket and gently shifted the clean shirt that must also have arrived for him while I was dead to the world. Removing the bandages, I observed immediately that things were much better than before. Though the wound was still warm, it was no longer hot to the touch. Most of the swelling had reduced to a healthy amount expected of damaged skin. There were signs of some discharge, but the color was far less alarming. The healing power of youth. It would still be at least a few more days until he should even begin to attempt any degree of motion, the greatest concern being the stitches holding. If the boy was anything like me, pain would not cause him to pause even at the risk of blood loss.

"Your fingers are cold." He did not draw away from their brushing against his skin. Instead his eyes simply studied my gestures.

I laughed, "Temperature is relative. Your skin is flush with blood, that is why it is pinker. The extra heat here makes other objects feel cooler."

His smaller hand reached out as he laid it upon the back of my hand. The gesture caught me a little off-guard. I held still wondering what was on his mind. "That's strange." He mused, "Your hand isn't cold at all to mine."

"Indeed, it is how we heal." As I spoke I gently cleaned the wound removing any evidence of fresh discharge. "Nature designed a very effective way of clearing away what damage we do to ourselves. To do so takes more of the vital fluid, blood. Heat is but a by-product. I have often wondered what the world must feel like to a reptile like a snake. After all, they are cold blooded. The world must be blazing hot all the time to them."

While Charles laughed, I adopted an air of mock insult, "Well, have you not pondered such a thing? Unlike us, they are unable to keep themselves warm. So if temperatures feel relative, the world must be an inferno."

"I've never held a snake. But I saw one once in a zoo. The scales were neat, all in little colorful rows that made fancy patterns. I wished I could have touched it."

"They are very elegant creatures. The scales feel like satin skimming over the skin. Their cool bodies seeking nothing but to collect warmth from the world around them that is so vital to their energy." They also made wonderful assassins when placed strategically around a target's dwelling. But that was not something I was about to share with the boy.

"Have you held a snake before?" He inquired.

"Many times, many different types. Every one of them was a spectacle." Gently I began to redress the wound with fresh linen.

Charles was amazed. "Father is afraid of snakes."

I daresay I knew why—I had a little something to do with an encounter Raoul had had. Whether or not he had ever uncovered the source of that little present I never did bother to verify. The extent of my knowledge was that the poor boy had spent the next month opening his desk drawer with the end of a long cane as a precaution. What I would not have given to have seen the day he had found the serpent. I smiled broadly at the memory. "Well, young Monsieur Charles, some men never find the courage to conquer their fears. In truth often our fears are unwarranted. Some byproduct of foolish misconceptions, or a complete lack of effort to understand something. The world is full of illusions and misdirections. That which outwardly appears dangerous can hold many wonders. On the other hand, that which appears safe can often be deceptively deadly."

And which precisely was I now?

His fingers toyed with a tassel on the cushion as he grinned. "I wish Father had let me play more by the river. I caught some neat creatures. Frogs and turtles, little lizards. Father got mad at me when I came home dirty and the men were with him in the study. Did you catch frogs when you were a boy, Monsieur Erik?"

 _If only you knew the sad truth, young Charles._ "No," I replied softly, fighting to keep the smile on my face even as I felt the mirth drained from it. "I was never permitted outside as a child."

My thoughts were forced back to my childhood. Having lost my father even before my birth, my mother had been forced to raise me on her own. She had held some perverse notion that keeping me enclosed in the house and essentially locked in the attic all the nights of my youth would do me good, shield me from the hatred of the world that shunned differences. Especially ones as severe as my deformity. Instead, she had turned our relationship into a constant conflict of wills, little knowing how much the tedious hours of my confinement turned my idle hands into the devil's playthings. Insatiable curiosity led me to tinkering with the basic skills I would use throughout my life to manipulate others. My only exposure to the outside world required deception. While she had sworn I was safely contained within the walls of that prison, she did eventually learn that I had miraculously left the attic room with its locked door for well over a year without her suspecting. At first, to watch a family of foxes. Then later the very activity that had gotten me caught—to go and play the church's pipe organ in the dead of night. Over those many nights, I had always been careful to be back up in the room each morning. Why pick a lock when there was a tree just within jumping distance after loosening one of the bars on my window? Of course, I knew if I had fallen, it surely would have killed me. But I had been younger than Charles was now. One doesn't seriously consider those things at that age! It had been that damnable priest who had tried in vain to guide my soul who eventually deduced my route and sealed off the window with boards and nails.

My only window to the world shuttered, I daresay I drove my poor mother to insanity with my devilish games. All I had ever wanted in those days was a little warmth, a little show of affection from her to her only child. As often happens, the realization of what I had been seeking arrived too late to reconcile. Unknown to me at the time, my mother had in fact chosen me over the affections of another man the very night I had decided to let her have that perfect life with him. Many years later, returning to that house of my birth, I had discovered she had just passed on, tortured by the childish way she had dealt with her blessing-turned-burden. She had lived alone all that time, hoping I would come home. There was no counting the number of times I had pondered, if she had simply embraced the truth and taught me to face the world instead of hiding me behind a mask, how different would things have turned out? For both of us.

Charles's fingers strayed up to an object on the tall table right behind the couch. Beside the oil lamp, one of my dearest automatons perched just above his head. "What is that? It sparkles so in the light."

Brought back to the present, I banished those sorrowful memories back to where they belonged. Leaning forward, I reached over and picked up the machine setting it upon his knee. The golden platform held a tree branch with a nightingale clinging there. Before it a long stemmed closed rose bud faced away. The entire surface was embedded with precious and semiprecious stone chips. The nightingale shimmered with diamonds, amber, obsidian, and deep red garnets to create an intricate feather pattern. His eyes were vibrant sapphires. Emeralds of the darkest green climbed the stem of the rose which was crowned by the white opal lined bud.

"This one is a treasured favorite. It took me over a month just to inlay the stones." Not to mention another month for the inner mechanics. This one was more complicated than many of the ones I designed. Anyone would consider it a masterpiece. "It has a little magic to it. Would you like to see?"

The boy nodded, his eyes becoming spellbound when I gently stroked the chin of the little bird and it suddenly sprang to life.

Opening his beak, the nightingale flitted his wings and began to call out in a simple strain. At first it repeated with little variance as he swayed to the gentle cadence. Before him the rose remained still, turned away. But gradually the notes altered becoming more complex. The bud before him began to tremble, hesitantly and painfully it began to turn towards him. The little bird's strain took on the undeniable feeling of desperation. The tempo swelled and intensified until at last the petals of the rose began to crack open. Ever so slightly, measure by measure she opened to his music. As he reached his frenzied crescendo, the opal lined petals slid back and gradually blushed to turn the deep red of the inlaid garnets.

"You see, in the end, the shy white rose becomes the red rose the world was never meant to know." The origins of which lie in a Persian tale of ultimate seduction and unrivaled sacrifice I had heard and fancied in the courts. Christine had often sat at my knee while I recited the ballad in its entirety for her in my house under the Paris Opera house.

I had never seen eyes staring with such unconcealed awe. He reached forward to touch the automaton and the rose folded herself back into her innocent guise, turning once more from the influence of the deep-throated little bird. "That was amazing!" His voice was hushed in wonder. "You made this?"

"I did, this one and many others." I watched as his finger brushed the throat of the bird and set it to start all over again. We watched once more as the spectacle unfolded. When the bird at last fell silent he picked up the small piece and gently turned it.

"How does it work? There is no turn key."

I chuckled. "There is a trick to the inside. A self-winding mechanism drives it."

His fingers began searching for a door to pry open, some way to get inside. When his grip on the delicate tree branch threatened to snap, it I retrieved it from his curious grasp. "I wanted to see how it works," he whined as I held the device purposefully out of his reach.

Oh no, please do not let him have that type of nature! My mother was devoid of clocks in my youth because of my insatiable curiosity to understand how time worked. "Charles, it is unwise to disassemble things we do not understand. One can cause great damage, and some things simply cannot be put back together again." I could see my unwillingness to let him play with what he must have seen as a toy had hurt him. Offering a little sigh, I set the bejeweled nightingale with his rose on the edge of the piano over my shoulder and tried to make amends. "It is like magic, Charles. Illusions. Sometimes knowing the truth behind the smoke and mirrors spoils all the fun. As wonderful as it is to seek knowledge, some things are better off left to the shadows. Some wonders lose their splendor when we lift the gauze of illusion." The real rose that suddenly appeared in my hand left him astonished. It was the simplest trick in the book, nothing more than sleight-of-hand with a brief misdirection. A swift fetching of the flower when I had held his gaze distracted elsewhere. If he had ever seen the trick before I could tell it had never occurred in this close of a proximity to him.

Taking the flower in his hand, it was as if he could not grasp for a moment that it was real. One moment my hand had been empty, the next the flower was there.

"Magic is mere illusion. Willing and unwilling deception of the senses." I explained. "There is grace and art to it." When one is looking at the more pleasing side. There is a darker pool that I had plumbed to unfathomable depths. The harshest of those tricks involved my voice in the deception of his mother. I wanted the boy to see only what I was showing him now. Let him believe me to be something safe and astounding. A great man of many talents . . . though it was only a facade over the monstrosity of my past. I did not want him to know how I had previously employed and squandered my talents.

"Where did it come from?" He looked around, but the source of the flower was out of his sight. The vase where I had procured the flower resided on the end table behind his head.

"Thin air." I delivered the bold faced lie with a grin. "If I told you it would not be half so amazing."

Charles shifted his eyes from the rose to look at me, the question spilled out of him. "How did your eyes get that way?" It stopped my thoughts in their tracks. How to explain that under the mask there was more to reveal than just my blue left eye and right brown one. I had paused so long in shocked consideration that he continued innocently, "I mean how did your eyes get so wise?"

It left me astonished. Where had he gotten such an observation? I had sworn he must have been interested in the most obvious interpretation. Instead, he overlooked that notion completely. "I am a man often driven to explore new experiences. When some new opportunity presented itself I had a tendency to follow it where ever it led into many distant lands. Much of the world I have seen. And beheld her wonders for myself. A wise man is ever in the pursuit of knowledge, never satisfied. It leads him on a great many quests."

He pondered my words for a long silent moment. "Father never left Paris until this trip to America. He must not be a very wise man."

I threw my head back unable to quell the surge of laughter that suddenly overtook me. The logic of those words was perfectly attuned. I had not intended the slight on Raoul. The boy had done it for me.

"Do you know my father?" Charles asked, completely oblivious to the reason behind my laughing fit.

Oh, this was going to be hard. With a great effort I gained control of myself enough to answer the boy, "Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny? Indeed I know him." He thinks I am dead, I wish _he_ were dead. "Though we were never particularly close."

He nodded almost solemnly, strange for a child speaking of the man he called his father. "He's not really close to anyone that I can see. The men who visited him at home just yelled at him."

I was growing to suspect something was gravely amiss here. The insolent aristocrat I had left behind in Paris had been fawned over, his finances secured in old money, family connections that would ensure a comfortable life without a want for generations. While he could sit on that unearned windfall from his ancestors, I had been forced to struggle to rebuild my finances from what little I had been able to recover before fleeing France. He had been the safe and stable man in Christine's life, while I had been the risky and volatile one. If even an eight year old boy was noting turbulence in the social life, this was no small matter.

I offered a slight shrug. "Sometimes adults need to yell to resolve matters. It is far from civilized, but than in reality so is mankind. I would not worry too much, Charles. There is something to be said for family connections. Raoul has enough funds for a dozen families."

Silence descended and I noted clear discomfort in him as he cast his eyes down into his folded hands.

"Charles, I have a little more of that potion that will help you sleep and take some of the pain away." I produced the small vial and held it out. "I will not give you as much this time, just take a quick sip. That is a good boy." I gently rubbed his hair and smiled. "You will be feeling better in no time, young monsieur." He was yawning already.

"Just bring it in here, and thank you again, Marie." Christine's voice echoed from the hall. "I confess I ran out of hands to carry the full vases."

Marie was one of the servants Nadir insisted we needed for the house since I had let my architectural hand go a little grander then my ability to care for the size of the property. She was a quiet and obedient girl with a timid nature. "Madame … " her trepidation could be heard even before the door opened. "That is his private study … we are not to enter there. It is forbidden to enter Monsieur Erik's rooms."

"Don't be silly, just follow me in." The door swung open to reveal two large floral arrangements that must have been the remainder of my flowers. The ladies were completely obstructed behind them as they turned to place the vases on the table by the wall.

Marie's cautious voice trembled, "Madame, are you certain he is alright with you having cut the blooms? He is very particular about which ones he brings down." Clearly she was unaware I was sitting on the other side of the couch watching her, hearing her every word. Wise girl. I would not hold this intrusion against her.

"Indeed, he is." I spoke up, watching Marie spin on her heel and nearly fall back on the table.

"Monsieur Erik! I did not meant to intrude! I was helping Madame Daae—" She was white as a rose knowing she had broken my rule of privacy.

Beside her, Christine turned to face me. She had changed into an elegant dress of cream fringed with golden embroidered ribbons that made her resemble a flower herself. A flashed a quick smile of relief, likely at the knowledge that I had recovered from the earlier episode, before the expression was replaced by a glare. "Erik, she was merely helping me. I insisted on her carrying one of the vases in here so I would not have to climb all the way to the roof twice."

Poor Marie, her eyes darted to Christine as she openly chastised me. I daresay the poor serving girl thought they would both breathe their last. She drew her hand up to her mouth, clearly anticipating my wrath.

She was fortunate I was in a rather good mood. That, and glancing before me I noticed Charles' current state. Holding a finger to my lips I replied, "Shhh, he has fallen back asleep." Gracefully I stood, pulling the comforter back over the boy on my way up. Then I strode around the couch toward them, taking my time. With each step I saw Marie shrinking further toward the wall, dread in her eyes.

"Monsieur, please … I never would have on my own. I know your rules. Do not cast us out," she begged me.

Directly before her, I paused and offered a smile at her trembling eyes. "I know. I heard you." My finger came up just under her chin, lifting it ever so slightly. "It is overlooked provided you speak nothing of it. Not a word of what you have seen."

She nodded slowly, her eyes a little glassy.

"Now, off with you." A wave of my hand and the girl drifted out of the room as if in a dream. She wouldn't even remember this had happened. However, Christine would. She fixed me with a heated glare.

"Erik, you frightened her on purpose!"

I folded my arms across my chest and replied calmly, "You are unaware that there are certain conditions to sharing my residence. Nadir's servants are well aware of them; the greatest of which is my rooms are not to be entered, ever."

Picking up the vase, she carried it across the room to find it a home. "Explains why your study was such a mess. Looked like you never clean up in here."

I watched her adjust the blooms. "I do not. Mainly because I am too busy working on projects. There is another rule, Christine."

"Rules, everyone has rules. The world is full of rules."

I cleared my throat and layered on a little more inflection, "Do not cut my flowers."

She froze for a moment, her eyes on the delicate petals in her hand. "Oh … "

"Is there even a single bud to be seen up there anymore? Truly, this must be all of them." Weary resignation pervaded my tone. There was little to be done now, the flowers already having been sacrificed. "You see, Christine, I like to enjoy the living blooms out in the night air under the stars. That becomes rather difficult when they are decaying beneath the confines of a roof."

Sliding her hands out from the flowers, her shoulders drooped in shame. "I'm sorry, Erik. I got a little carried away."

Tucking my chin to my chest I had to fight the urge to inform her there was more to that garden than pretty flowers. Some of them had been part of a hybridization program I had painstakingly started years ago. Specifically the roses. It had not missed my attention that the very same yellow blooms I had

intended to take to the next step of creating a nonfading more vigorous bloom were part of the arrangements. A faint whimper crept into my voice before I could banish it. "They will bloom again, next year." At least I only dabbled in horticulture, it didn't bear the same importance as my music and architecture.

"It had been one of my duties as a Vicomte's wife." Her voice grew distant as she stared at the fine china vase that held one of more than a dozen of her floral arrangements. The aroma of that number of flowers in my study, oversized as it was, became a little overwhelming. "The house always needed to be presentable in the highest fashion. I would lovingly arrange the most stunning of bouquets and scatter them throughout the rooms. It was the simplest touch of elegance I could supply. Your rooms just cried out to me with a need to be brightened. With all the rich fabrics, the dark wood, and the finely carved stone, when I found the vases I longed to do something to thank you . . . for saving his life."

Approaching her from across the room, I paused, leaving a safe distance between us. "Christine," I replied softly, "there is no need of thanks. Forbid it to be so, but if that night had to be relived a hundred times over, I would have willingly taken the same risk for you each time." … _for you …_ somehow those words had found their way out into the open.

She had no words to reply with, only a soft blush emerging on her cheeks as she glanced my direction.

The room was beginning to adopt a feeling of confinement, and I knew myself too well not to heed the warning. Walking over to the desk, I slid the wooden box into my coat pocket. "Have you ever seen the city after dusk from a rooftop?" The question was largely rhetorical, I knew what her answer would be. Principally, I needed to get some fresh air. Fortunately, I had more than one cloak and her cleaning frenzy had failed to locate the one in my study for when I required such outings. I swung the cloak over my shoulders.

"No, I haven't." Her reply was a little sheepish. "Nadir revealed the garden to me in the afternoon after I had already cleaned the study. I tried to place everything in logical locations. The music scores together, all your drafts . . . "

" … which shall have to be brought back out as we are not yet finished constructing the building." I said blandly.

"Oh." Her eyes drifted to the drafting cabinet. "I had assumed it was finished since the rehearsals had begun."

Laughing, I gestured for the door. "It is _nearly_ complete, but there are some finishing touches to be done. As with all projects, nothing goes entirely as planned."

Ensuring that Charles was still sleeping soundly, Christine gathered her folded shawl from the table and wrapped it around her shoulders as she followed me out the door toward the staircases that led to the roof. Our footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the hall, the gas fueled wall sconces cast our shadows in various directions as we made our way leisurely through the second story.

"I have been meaning to ask, is he musically talented?" I asked casually.

"He has perfect pitch. One time he sat down at a piano when we were alone and the most beautiful music came out." She took a shuddering breath. "It was the only time I let him play, Erik. I rarely let him sing for fear of Raoul suspecting."

"Christine," I shook my head sternly. "You must not suppress the boy's talents for any reason. Do you not realize the danger in that? Raoul suspecting or not, it is extremely unwise to force a creative spirit to silence!"

She looked away from me. "I know . . . I know it isn't right. But, given his birth in September it is miracle enough that Raoul simply believes him to be prematurely born. I have been left with little choice but to suppress the fostering of his natural talents."

"It is not so much that it is wrong as it is cruel." I growled, my thoughts dwelling on that prison of an attic bedroom from my youth.

For some time we walked in silence before she changed the subject while we climbed the stairs to the third story.

"This mansion is beautiful. All the details are simply stunning. I was trying to count the number of animals you had hidden in the carvings and lost track."

Glancing at her sideways, I inquired, "And how did you know I was the architect?" She had excellent perception, I had purposefully hidden an entire menagerie about the intricate carvings. Birds, snakes, lizards, foxes, squirrels, even fish and insects were scattered into the graceful swirls of stone.

"Of course it was you. I can see your grand strokes in the details, of the very same nature that graced the halls of the Paris Opera. Only freed this time to follow your own will." As we walked along, her eyes were hungrily taking in the hall around her. Fortunately, her eyes only skimmed over a singular ornate door tucked into a deep recess. I hoped she had not noticed I had been holding my breath as we passed it. "Granted, it is not nearly as enormous as the Opera was."

"But it still turned out to be much larger than I had intended." I confessed as I swung my hand over to retrieve the lantern I used to light my way when I worked on the garden after dusk. "The entrance with its grand pillars that supports the balcony outside my study became the focal point of the house. Once I had that designed, the finished size of the project became hinged on that detail alone. Anything smaller and the entire effect would have been out of balance. So, quite by accident, what I had intended to be a humble house grew into the mansion that nearly spans this entire block. Luckily, I had owned the entire block to begin with. I wish I had been able to control my zeal and had kept the scale more manageable. Having servants around is not something I have ever been at ease with."

That earned me a teasing little smile from her as I opened the door to the garden and let her pass by me into the cooling night air. "Still trying to be a recluse," she called over her shoulder.

"Old habits have a tendency to stick with us." I shrugged. I refused to look at the rows of planters that should have been lined with blooms. Instead I forced my eyes to take in the clear sky above us. The stars were alight everywhere, the near full moon rising above the horizon. This was the first night in more than a week without an overcast sky and I reveled in the natural splendor. "Absolutely stunning, and look how the city below tries to mimic the night sky. Pinpoints of light everywhere, scattered in the darkness." The view truly was breathtaking from the roof of my house. To the north just across the street, spread the vast Central Park, an oasis of greenery amidst the sprawling city by day. By night it was a sea of darkness surrounded by shores of light. By contrast, the southern view was interrupted by the taller structures of the more established area of Manhattan. Lights shimmered through the windows of the buildings like little stages, providing a glimpse into the lives of others. To the west sprawled several blocks to the distant Hudson River with its wharves bustling even past the setting of the sun. With the types of businesses that lined those shores, it came as no surprise that more money exchanged hands after dark than before. East, the span of buildings stretched further before reaching the shores of the East Riverfront. That body of water could not even begin to be glimpsed from my rooftop. The shape of the city was sketched out before us, the form hinted in lights suggesting the illusion of order that was absolutely abolished by the light of day. Was it really a wonder why I preferred the landscape of the night?

"Simply breathtaking." Her eyes could not find rest among the views. Each time they found a spot to linger they immediately dashed to something new. She was a sight, dazzling to behold in the cascade of white and gold. Like a budding bloom with the petals bursting open simply overflowing with life she nearly bounded from balustrade to balustrade eager to experience, hungry for the new world she had just discovered existed. Were it not a heartrending illusion, I could have been that nightingale and she the rose opening for the first time to see what my song had promised. "What is that in the middle of the park?"

"The Carousel." I leaned on the balustrade beside her, the gentle breeze stirred my cloak playing with the fabric to produce a soft rustle of the satin lining. Beside me, Christine's shawl rippled in the breeze. "The carved horses are masterfully done. Inside the building they have a team of mules run on a short track that drives the entire ride. I once spent an afternoon watching the children riding with glee and found myself wondering, if those horses were real, how much would their pride be tarnished to know that they are powered by the common mule." Leaning my back against the balustrade I laughed, "Rather like society, if you will. How often the fortunes are amassed not by the millionaire's own labor, but thanklessly by that of others."

"Interesting perception," she mused before casting a glance at me, "considering the opulence of the roof we are standing on."

"A man's honor hangs on his repayment of his debts to others." I defended my stance calmly. "Those who work for me are well rewarded for their services. In fact, more than one has risen from a state of poverty to the ability to make his own investments. Thus, my fortune yields greater fruit in return, and not just for me alone. So you see, while I may still appear the recluse, my involvement in various industries renders that claim inaccurate. For ten years, from the moment I hit these shores, I was determined to build an empire unlike any I had previously attempted. One with enough foundations to withstand any challenge placed in my way." I had learned that, despite the mask I had to hide behind, every man had his price. It may reach the obscenely high, but any man could be bought and sold with enough leverage. I was loath to admit it, but the same rule had proven true even when applied to me.

Christine's eyes were studying me, almost prying as though seeking an explanation for an unasked question. "It must be difficult to maintain control over so many vast industries." It wasn't a question, nor had I supplied enough information for her to have guessed the extent of the sources that supplied my funds. Had I left my ledger open on the desk? Before Nadir had returned from his trip I had been doing some bookkeeping.

"Do not be ridiculous." I chuckled, "I do not control the industries, I simply have a handhold in those I find of value. It takes far too much warring to create a monopoly and I have no interest in such petty games. In nearly every one of my businesses I worked closely to establish the groundwork, watching for a prospect to move up and take over management of it. Very few have I been forced to cut as losses. Most grow into self sustaining businesses. For example, the textile company started with the purchase of a herd of sheep and a building with which to process the wool. Once tied in with my imports through the Inman and International Steamship Company, the range of fine fabrics we were able to supply expanded to the exotic silks and brocades. Having a direct line to the dyes and raw materials makes the ability to expand into new directions more readily attainable. What began as a single building is now seven warehouses that provides solid wages for hundreds of workers the year through. One man, who had begun running the shuttle loom for me in the early years, took over management of the operation some time ago. My only influence is seen when a new design of fabric is required or a new technique presents itself."

"What of the stone quarry?" she inquired.

So, she **had** seen my ledger. "Shadowcrest Industries, the first foundation I laid; the irony has not been lost on me. But I had not been able to free up much of my assets before I left France, the only flat I could afford for Nadir and myself was in a horrid neighborhood, the Bowery, by the train tracks. I came to the shores to find construction everywhere in this growing city. With my skills as an architect and stone mason, all I needed was a source of good stone and crew to become a contractor. This is the one industry I have never allowed to leave my hands. It has provided me with the means to invest in ever branching directions as my life requires it."

Caressing the balustrade I had carved myself, she was deep in thought. "Jewels, precious metal, and coal mines—"

I shrugged. "I needed the gems and metals for my automatons and machines. And occasionally a contract requires an ornate finish. The coal has many applications, mainly the steamships and railroad. I daresay in that later industry, I was approached by a man who desired to go west and simply lacked the funds. I made it possible for him to initially invest in the rails for a return of a small portion from the profits and access to move what I needed when I had required it." I waved a hand to the city around me. "Over the years I have had men come to me despite my eccentric reputation requesting financial backing. It was a notion that at first quite disturbed me until I grew accustomed to the meetings in the sitting room on the first floor. It soon became apparent that a slight compromise on my privacy brought vast returns for many . . . enough payoff for men to risk their reputations to be seen contracting with me. I assure you, it would be entirely different in social consequence than a man groveling before the Vicomte de Chagny for a monetary gift."

The wind drifted across the rooftop once more stirring the fabric. She was strangely silent beside me, her eyes looking down at the street, focused on nothing in particular. Why was I driven to brag about my fortune? Certainly, my success had been earned through a lot of hard work. The initial years in Manhattan, before I had been able to break even, was full of hardships. As in Paris, while working on the Opera I had been forced to move from flat to flat. Once I had enough saved, I purchased the entire block where my house currently stood simply so that I could not be forced to move again. Building my own home logically had become my next project. Once my refuge was complete, my empire began to grow like a weed.

"Christine," I broke the uncomfortable silence at last. "Now I think you may appreciate a little more why I value my privacy so much. All this suspicion for nothing more than the ebb and flow of society's lifeblood." I hated to add this next part, but I kicked my pride to the curb and continued, "Raoul's investments do the same as mine."

"You think so." She replied with an edge of bitterness, her eyes refusing to look up at me.

I sighed. What was I saying that was so wrong? I insult the boy and get silence, I offer a reluctant equal comparison and am rewarded with a bitter tongue. "Let us change the subject as clearly I am only digging a grave in your eyes."

Shifting to face me, she shook her head. "Don't say that, Erik. You have clearly grown beyond the need for connections to some grim fate. I cannot even begin to express how relieved I was to find a bed in you chamber instead of a coffin."

"Oh … yes," a tight-lipped smile escaped me before I could suppress it. "That pathetic side of me that wallowed in self misery. I banished that along with my childish game of playing ghost."

She smiled. It attempted to have warmth but fell short, overtaken by an unmistakable edge of sorrow. "You are successful here, clearly. Think of all you have done with what little you had brought here. Truthfully, it is astonishing. And with it there is growth. You are more of a man now that you have embraced what it is to be human than you were when I first learned my Angel of Music was not just a ghost in my head all those years ago in Paris."

I had to consciously remember to take a breath, the burn of my lungs slowly reminding me I had momentarily ceased. It was my turn to be dashed into stunned silence.

Neither of us found words under the soft moon light. Gradually I drifted off towards the southeast corner of the roof that faced the Music Hall. I was missing something. I could feel it, sense it. Some deep down instinct told me I did not wish to know; however it was my inevitable nature to pry into things, to unlock secrets.

Reaching into my pocket I pulled out the box and gently prepared the opium pipe beside the lantern. I would have to go retrieve my next supply tomorrow after I had finished with the hall. I did not have much left at all, the recent pressure of the approaching deadline having triggered a need to smoke more than typical. It would be enough to take the edge off me, fortunately not enough to lay me out for the rounding of a clock. Taking a deep draw off the sweet burning cake, I let it fill me with the soft euphoria. Out in the open air the effects were slightly diminished which suited me just fine.

"What is that?" Christine asked over my shoulder. I turned to find her intensely curious, fixated on the unusually shaped pipe.

"I did not want to smoke it inside with Charles present." I said a little sheepishly, I had to wonder if she had been aware of the extent of my addiction to morphine in the days she had known me before. The opium had been a previous friend, gentler then the injected sister drug. It was a miracle the needle had not finished me off. Quite convinced my dreams of ever singing again were banished to the past, I took the pipe back up not caring if it damaged my lungs. "It is just opium, helps to keep the darker side of me under control."

"Is it dangerous?" Her eyes were lined with great concern.

I shrugged. "Depends upon how much one indulges I suppose. A little bit calms the spirit and inspires the soul. It has a wonderful euphoric effect such as I am beginning to feel now. Overindulging, well, men have been known to partake too much and never awaken from the dragon's dreams. It is not a cheap indulgence, either. Closer to Persia, the cost was far less. Even in Paris it was costly, but not even half the price as the import fee adds here. It is not unheard of for a man to quite literally burn all his money for the addiction." Taking another draw of the smoke, I held it in my lungs for a moment before exhaling and sending the trail of smokey tendrils into the breeze.

Christine's breathing stiffened, the edges of her eyes beginning to well with tears. She turned away from me before the first tear could run down her cheek.

"My dear … " I started, my ability to coherently string words together already being slightly impaired. There was a slight hint of laughter threatening to inappropriately spill out. "I am under no danger myself, Nadir introduced me to the effects when we were back in Persia. I am no stranger to its powerful grip. I am quite capable of monitoring my own use."

As I took a step towards her, she held up a hand to keep me at bay. Not a word as she hastily exited through the door leaving me wrapped in the haze of the drug. I glanced at the gilded pipe with the enameled designs gracing its surface. It was not some vulgar needle bruising and deflating my veins as in the days she had known me before. The softer smoke held a gentler effect, milder. The Persian fog kept that monster in a hazy sleep so I could function as a civilized man. This was a necessary evil. Was it really so bad?

I felt compelled to follow her, yet the gentleman in me forbade it. She needed her space. Laying down on a bench, I cast my eyes and my thoughts to the starry heavens above. _More a man than before_ ... was it really possible? Perhaps I should look in the mirror more often.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

Torture. There simply was no other word for this than torture. My warnings to Carnegie about adding other investors for the opening concerts had gone unheeded. On more than one occasion I assured him there was no need, financially everything was already secured. But the kind-hearted fool insisted that socially he was obligated to involve these men. It was expected of him.

Trapped at the table in the meeting, I had been biting my tongue to the point where I tasted blood. These uncultured idiots had only one concern—their public standing. Not one of their decisions had been founded upon actual talent. Now I had begun to realize just what sheer petulance had brought about the listing of singers who had stood beside the piano at the rehearsals, a handful of which lacked any semblance of talent. If it had not been for the strike to my dignity it would have produced, I should have been pounding my head against the table in frustration as they bantered politely back and forth about whom should have top billing. Did they not perceive the lead investors of the building, the society conductor, and the lead architect were all locked in perpetual silence as the fools rubbed elbows?

Five men reclined at the table in addition to Carnegie, Tuthill, Damrosch, and myself. And there was a stark contrast to their whims. Carnegie, why had you fallen prey to that social pressure? These men may hold prominence and power, but they are not worth the trouble. It should have remained with those who hold a true appreciation of fine arts, not just the profit it could bring or the social standing that followed.

It had been well over an hour since I had been placed in that torture chamber, fighting an insurmountable battle to stay civil. By now I had been forced to resort to one of my old tricks known to placate my broiling temper. My fingers began to tap out melodies on an imaginary piano and the melodies were growing ever ominous.

"There is simply no discussing it further. We know who gets top billing." Signor Chantelli waved a dismissing hand. He was a short pompous shell of a councilman who had been known to abuse his position to influence even his faintest desire. This trait spilled over into every aspect of his life including his leisure.

"Oh no, we have not, Signor." Goldridge replied, "You simply wish to place your niece on the top, and we have not unanimously agreed on that." Ah Goldridge, what can I say about the city treasurer other than one word, embezzler. If the real books were ever glimpsed by the public rather than the fixed ones he presented even to his colleagues, he would find himself paying his debts in blood. Dripping in finery from only the best imported cloths stolen money could buy, even his shirt buttons bore inset diamonds that caught the light with every gesture. The man was built thin with the facial features akin to a weasel. It should not surprise me to find some relative in his lineage had married a mustelid of some sort.

Yet my mind roved back to Chantelli. Indeed La Serenissima was not going to get top billing. Ever. And I was growing exceedingly weary of this man's vain attempt to get her there. Perhaps it was time for me to step out of the stone work. The trick would be keeping my reaction close to something viewed as civil. Well, men discussed business.

When Chantelli retorted, "She has a beautiful voice." I was ready to discuss business, delivering each statement with an undeniably congenial tone.

"I daresay, I have never heard such tones from the braying of a mule. Tell me, Chantelli, I had not realized your family had engaged in agriculture. How is the agricultural industry of late?"

He was completely dumbfounded at the credulous subject, so shocked that he stared at me and began to answer earnestly, "We are not into farming, Signor. Not a single one to our line engaged in such a low class activity."

The others had all fallen into stunned silence as I continued, maintaining the mock _civil_ tone. "Not a single one, than where did such a lovely sow originate from? Truly she possesses the soothing voice of a rooster being throttled by a fox."

Out of the corner of my eye I caught both Carnegie and Damrosch trying to hide their amusement. Tuthill had turned white with shock.

"I do not know where you get such opinions, Signor . . . whoever-you-are!" Chantelli face reddened. We had all been introduced in the very beginning, and he had lacked the manners to retain my name. Proper etiquette in higher circles dictates that neglecting to retain a name is a high insult.

Despite the ill-manners, I maintained my composure. Let me see, I had compared her to a mule, a sow, a rooster, which barnyard animal next? Oh yes. "Have you ever heard a barn cat mating? Such a melodious symphony, I daresay I have heard alley cats produce something more akin to music than her caterwauling on stage."

The vein on his neck bulged with his outrage as his hand came down upon the table with a tremendous thump. "That is my niece you are insulting! Who is this vulgar man who hides behind a mask? I demand to know!"

Carnegie took a moment to properly compose himself from fighting down a laughing fit. "Signor Chantelli, may I re-introduce you to Monsieur Erik. He is a co-investor in the Music Hall, a master stone mason, and an architect on the project."

Goldridge offered a scowl at me. "As much as I disagree with Chantelli on the order, I must agree that this man's words are uncivil."

With a smile, I folded my hands in front of me, relishing this little game now that I had a grasped thread of control. Outrage is a fantastic tool, sometimes more effective than bribery. Carnegie was clearly not going to stop me. I was now determined to quite effectively bury this little farce before it went any further. Perhaps this was why he had insisted I attend today. The others were too tightly socially connected to speak out. I, on the other hand, didn't care what anyone thought of me. So, the bold faced man in the room was the only one wearing a mask. Interesting.

"What does a stone mason know of music?" Chantelli threw his hand in the air. Ah, the expressive Italians.

" _Master_ stone mason." I corrected him. "And clearly I hold more knowledge of it than you do."

In the corner, Wellberg and Montago were whispering to each other. So much for even the meeker two being civil. Men of political influence such as these lesser councilmen, actually the whole lot of them, were accustomed to making spectacles of themselves.

"What a load of tripe." Ruescher scoffed. Tall and robust, he was known for holding his tongue until the moment he was prepared to speak. He did not waste words in a public hearing. I had to wonder if his activities outside work also held the same practice. Given the nature of men I highly doubted such self control. "The very idea. I move that Monsieur Erik maintains silence in our company."

My shadowed eyes shifted to the high profile council man beside me who was filthier than the lot of them combined. He may have the appearance of a stately man in his brand new tailored suit, but word (and a few other things) travels. Offering him a smile, I replied a little too warmly, "Ruescher, at last you have decided to lend your voice, but it is to silence one you should not be. Then again, is that not what you do all day?"

That started a cacophony I was quite pleased with. Sitting back, I let the men raise their voices until it formed an unintelligible gaggle. It reminded me distinctly of geese. I let it continue until just before the blows would have begun.

"Gentlemen." I raised my voice above the din, that authoritative tone that seemed capable of breaking through just about anything. They turned to face me, these apparently civilized men panting like a pack of dogs. "What this Music Hall shall become is the very focal point of every musician's career. An invitation to grace her stage will mark a grand achievement, the recognition of true talent. We are about to showcase this age's greatest musicians both instrumentally and vocally." I tossed my hand into the air. "You may desire to cast your pearls before swine." I glared at Chantelli before continuing. "I, however, will do whatever it takes to uphold the true purpose of this Music Hall. If you do not agree, than you have insulted Monsieur Carnegie and Monsieur Damrosch's dream. Therefore, I state firmly that La Serenissima will not get the publicity that Chantelli so desires to purchase for her—once more."

There followed a stunned silence. Not one of the shallow men even attempted to speak. Ruescher's hands were beneath the table. His eyes were fixed on something as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Nervously he flicked a glance my way and I nodded ever so slightly. I knew what was in his hands, a little suggestion I had jotted down unseen while the men were arguing. The flick of my hand had not just been a gesture, it had been a hidden delivery.

Ruescher swallowed deeply. "Gentlemen, I second that motion."

 _Good man, would be a shame if that little episode at the brothel should become public. Especially to your wife._

Chantelli began to surge to his feet to argue when Ruescher held up his hand. "That's final! She will not have the lead act!"

Oh my, was that desperation? That would be the end of it, the man had too much to lose. I often discovered that around political circles, one little secret vast enough to destroy a man could render him entirely impotent. It was why years ago I had established and maintained a network of ears to keep me informed of anything that may be of interest. Important men had the notion that the poorer among them lacked intelligence and cunning. I, on the other hand, found the overlooked stations of those very men profoundly useful; providing the potential for great cunning. Tapping it at the source was simple, as every man has a price.

Carnegie broke in, "Monsieur Erik, who would you place as top billing?"

"For the grand opening concerts of the stage of merit?" I scoffed, "I am honestly surprised it was ever a topic for discussion." Giving the name its full Russian flare I replied, "Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. The man is an astonishingly innovative composer and has already more than earned a place of recognition upon this stage. Not to mention, the moment he accepted the invitation to come here no other name should ever have been considered."

Damrosch was smiling, very warmly. "I concur, Carnegie. Erik's high opinion is also my personal regard. With that name we are certain to draw a full attendance. Tuthill, what do you say?"

"But of course, the choice truly is obvious." His reply was a little timid, clearly worried about the ramifications of what had transpired before.

"Well, than it truly is settled now. Tchaikovsky it is." Carnegie's eyes laughed even though he himself could not. The man had a devious streak to him. How had he known I could quell this farce? Oh yes, the rehearsal.

"Now that we have our top billing. The soloists need to be addressed. We should alternate." Damrosch suggested, "Between the vocalists and instrumentalists. We should select a few to follow up each concert following the Oratorio and Symphony Society pieces. That should keep the audience engaged."

"On that we agree," I remarked. "Variety is nice. The pieces they are performing must also be considered for the order. Too many lullabies in a row may produce a slumber we do not wish. The slower pieces should be offset by ones with more vigor. The same should be said for the key and nationality of the piece performed. It should more or less contrast the fabric of the full compositions."

Clearly pleased to be discussing the heart of the topic, Carnegie now openly ignored the five investors and closed the circle to include solely the four who had the vision in mind. "So, what we require is a list of the pieces each wishes to perform. Save for a few late arrivals, we have most of that already. Which reminds me; Erik, we'll need what you will be doing."

"What?" I shot a look of shock at him. "Carnegie, I had yet to promise to perform. I have not even decided if I would."

"You promised me yesterday I would have your answer." He shrugged with a strategic smile. "When you were not here I made the decision for you." As I started to protest he held up a silencing finger. "Did we not shake on it? You gave me your word. Now the choice is made, you _will_ be on stage opening night at some point."

I closed my eyes with a long sigh. Yes, we had shook on it. By my very honor I was forced to abide the agreement. "Alright, Carnegie. You win—but remember your terms to me. How it will be is my choice."

Damrosch leaned on his elbow, genuinely intrigued. "And what will it be, Erik? I am curious."

"I have not decided." Had I not said that already?

"Carnegie says you are a composer and he heard one of your works on the organ as well as your spellbinding voice."

I offered Carnegie a warning glare that I was not pleased with how this had transpired. "Damrosch, that is not a piece I will be playing on the stage in public. It is from my personal collection."

"Have I heard anything you have written?" He pried a little deeper.

"Doubtful" I sighed, "Regretfully, I have never allowed my music to be performed. It had been rather a secret."

Tuthill shifted in his seat, studying me a little more intently. "So you will be debuting . . . not just in America. I thought you had performed in Paris, at the Opera."

I shook my head. Maybe I should not have gone back to the risk of smoking opium. I had once put the pipe up due to the risk of damaging my voice. Though the morphine needle had hardly been a good replacement.

"Well, then we shall await the grand tribute on the opening night." Carnegie stated with finality. "As soon as you know the tone of the piece let us know."

What piece was I going to do? I honestly did not have a clue.

Pensively, Chantelli approached us. Aware of his presence at my left side, I began to watch him out of the corner of my eye suspecting he might be up to something. I did not have to wait long to see his hand begin to rise. He started reaching towards my mask. I surged to my feet. Swinging my arm back I parried, rotating around til I firmly grasped his wrist. With his action to unmask me I was finished playing civil with this pack of dogs.

"Signor, and I use the term loosely as you are undeserving of the honor it implies, you have made a very unwise decision to pester me!" He struggled desperately to pry my fingers from his wrist, the hand turning white from lack of blood flow. The tone of my voice was menacingly low. "Blatantly you accuse me of being vulgar and uncivil and yet it is you who attempt to undress me. Were it a hat, would you knock it off a gentleman's head like a schoolyard bully? I promise you, Chantelli, I refuse to tolerate such childish disrespect." Flinging his hand toward his chest, I cast him aside. "The next time your hand approaches me will be the last you see of it." With the grace of a panther I returned to my seat.

The room retained a tomb-like silence. The men who had come to respect me, the three I had worked closely with for the past two years on this dream, were staring in shock as the curtain had risen on a side they had never seen of me; a side I had kept a very close guard on since setting foot on the shores of New England. Those men had had the decency not to even ask me why I hid behind a mask. From the beginning, they accepted the attire as though it were simply a fashionable accessory. Inside I was seething from the near disaster, the sensation once more welling up of standing on the edge of the dangerous precipice. One more step in that direction and Chantelli would never have even heard a lecture from me. He simply would have been strangled to death without a moments hesitation.

"Gentlemen," Carnegie broke the silence. "I believe we have finished here for the day. If you will . . . " He gestured toward the five men, waving a hand toward the door.

I remained seated, my fingers drumming on the table in unbridled scorn as they left. Chantelli and Ruescher both glanced over their shoulders at me. The former nearly tripped over his walking cane. The door shut behind them. Carnegie turned back to us and wiped a hand across his forehead. "Well, that went smoothly," he sighed with weary sarcasm.

My hackles still well and truly risen, I growled at him, "I warned you not to involve others in this dream. I assured you everything could be handled financially between us, but you insisted upon this farce! Why, Carnegie? Though I am known to be a fan of a good tragedy, I detest being the main character in one!"

Damrosch and Tuthill had withdrawn slightly, providing more space between them and myself. I could hardly blame them after what they had just seen. Damrosch gave voice first. "Indeed, Andrew." The meeting clearly over, he had shifted into the informal way they spoke when in private, "Even I had mentioned it wasn't essential. Involving those with no passion for the music will only hinder this dream."

"It was never about the money. I assure you," Carnegie waved a hand trying to placate. "I did not wish to involve them, but their connections made it impossible for me to refuse."

I snorted, "It is simple. You say 'no'. What does it matter who they are? They have no place in this establishment. They are not even true gentlemen."

"Erik." He looked pleadingly into my eyes. "I am truly sorry for Chantelli's behavior. I swear when I insisted you attend I had no idea the situation would descend to such a disgraceful interaction. I had only hoped your passion for the heart of this hall would silence them and through you they would come to respect our vision. I assure you, that had been my sole intention."

"Do not apologize for that pig's behavior. He is ill-deserving of it. Dress a pig in full evening attire and it is still undeniably a swine." The internal battle to banish the heat from my eyes was not going well, I could tell I was still glaring. There was tension in my fingers as they drummed upon the tabletop. "If this music hall is to stand true to the vision of her creation, then it is essential to have those who are steeped in the fine arts be in control. Uncultured fools like those should be banned from doing anything greater than purchasing a ticket."

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly before looking to each of us. "Walter, William, Erik; I deeply apologize for having jeopardized the integrity of this vision of ours. When I gave in to the pressure and involved them, I had hoped to keep their influence to a minimum. I confess things got out of control. Thank you, Erik for your quick wit in ending this before it went any further. Once more I find myself in your debt."

Rolling my eyes I looked to Damrosch, "Tell me, how has the new set of tympani been performing?"

He was perplexed as he replied tentatively, "Fine, why?"

"I have a powerful need to hit something."

Carnegie seemed relieved, clearly assuming because I had apparently just told a joke that everything was fine. It could not have been further from the truth. I did need to pound on something before I completely lost control, the result of which I might live to regret. Slipping my pocket watch out I noted that the rehearsals would be starting within the hour. The piano keys down in the chamber music hall would have to do. Now that the chandelier was finished, the vocalists would rehearse in the smaller hall while the Oratorio and Symphony societies took advantage of the large main hall.

"Erik, I did not get the opportunity to inquire on Madame Daae's son. Your message involved something of a state where he required attention?" Carnegie's eyes were filled with concern.

Leaning back in the chair, I nodded. "Young Charles is doing well after he was recovered from the waters of the Hudson River. Great fortune oversaw the timing of the event or we never would have seen him fall from the dock. How he came to be in the midst of those drunken brawlers and obtained the knife slash I am not entirely certain. But the fever has broken while the wound fairs well."

"Is Madame Daae alright?" Damrosch asked, "To think, the poor child, found by the dockside after dark. That is no place for a young boy."

I recalled last night on the rooftop she had been upset about something, the haze of the opium I had been smoking was obscuring the precise details of my memory just when I needed them most. "She is understandably troubled by what transpired. The fact that her son is showing signs of recovery I am sure is helping lift her spirits. Whether or not she should return to rehearsals is entirely up to her. I would anticipate her absence for the next few days at the least."

Tuthill asked, "Where is she now?"

"Still at _Clef de Voute Manoir_." I confessed, "The boy was too injured to be moved until the stitches are truly set." All three sets of eyes widened. I knew they were considering the same scandal that Nadir had leapt to. I held up a hand. "I assure you, the lady's integrity shall remain intact. But I am sure you will agree it would be unacceptable to separate a mother from her injured child."

Timidly, Tuthill shifted in his chair. "Erik, while that is true, she _is_ a married woman to a high status Frenchman, if word gets out … "

"It would be a scandal." I finished for him. "I am aware of that, Gentlemen. However, sometimes life presents us with situations where a reputation pales by comparison to the consequences. Best judgment here is that the boy's health come first. Even Madame Daae agrees."

"It's been discussed?" asked Carnegie.

"Of course it has." I sighed, my hand offering a dismissive wave. "How else would I know she agrees. The choice to stay where they are for now is hers. And she is welcome to remain in the safety of my residence until she chooses to leave."

Damrosch leaned back letting the topic go. Even Tuthill seemed satisfied that at least there was no foul play at hand. Finding Carnegie still watching me, it was easy to read on his features the struggle for the next words. At last they hesitantly tumbled out, "The other night … it sounded as though she knew you … from another time."

An ocean, both physical and made of time, had clearly not been enough to wash away the tether of our past. Even for those completely unaware of my darker acts, there is no way to abolish the tell-tale expressions that betray a previous connection between souls. I took a deep breath and released it slowly. "We were acquainted for a time in Paris, through the Opera." The words caught in my throat. Why had I admitted that? Paris would have been sufficient. How would I explain this without betraying what role I had truly played in that tragedy? "I witnessed her emerge from a shy chorus girl to bravely stepping out into the limelight. She had been overlooked for some time. I assisted her with some vocal lessons and ensured the management was made aware of the extent of her talent." It sounded innocent enough, provided they were unaware of who her teacher had truly been. I was not much of a gambling man, but I had to place a bet they had not heard about the strange affair between the young singer and the Phantom of the Opera. I had always preferred Angel of Music, somehow it had rendered my grand deception in a softer light.

"That explains a tremendous amount." Carnegie leaned back now. "After you tore out of here, I discovered I could not even begin to explain why Madame Daae would come all this way to trust her accompanist to find her missing child."

"Indeed, "Damrosch added. "When Carnegie had informed me, neither of us could sort it out. She had only just apparently met you the day before."

This was getting entirely too uncomfortable, I could feel the tension building in my muscles even though outwardly I was projecting a more relaxed posture. Not wanting them to pry further into just how closely I was connected to her, I had to get out of here. Fingering my pocket watch I brought it back out barely even noting the time. "Gentlemen, I believe I have a duty to perform at the piano. If you will excuse me, the rehearsals should remain on schedule today."

Before they could answer me, I stood and swept out of the room as gracefully as I could. Out in the hallway, I let my instincts carry me through the maze towards the chamber music hall, longing to have a few brief moments to let my fingers caress the keys with the music selections I wished to play, rather than those of the performers. I was feeling that dreadful sensation of being trapped, caged and on display for the vulgar curiosity of the world. This was a dangerous state for me to be in and I damn well knew it. This was the time when logic screamed at me to go to ground, separate myself from the constant pressure of being an oddity. I was all too familiar with how lightening quick my reactions could be when I felt even the least bit threatened. I was about to round the corner, when a shadow caught my vigilant eyes a split second before the source emerged.

Ruescher must have assumed he was swift. As his bulk came into view he was ready to strike where I had been. His cane only found thin air and carpet. Now beside him, I glared down at the seedy politician. Enraged at having missed me, he brought his hand up to try and strike me again. Having not learned from Chantelli's example, he fell prey to the same reflex as I deftly wrapped my arm around his, firmly locking my fingers over the fabric of his sleeve. The pressure I placed on the wrist forced his fist to open and the palm exposed itself to me where my eyes saw the confirmation of a back alley rumor.

"How dare you!" He growled at me while fighting to get his limb back. "You viper! If you breath even a word of what you know—"

"What?" With an eerie calmness, I coldly smiled, my eyes never leaving the rash spreading across his palm. "You think I even need to? Honestly, Ruescher, how do you think I learned of your activities in the first place. The word is already circulating out there like the daily news. It is quite remarkable you have managed to keep it in the gutter and out of print as long as you have. How much has that cost you? But now that the signs are plastered all over you, there is no hiding from the truth of what you have been spreading around and it is not good will."

He twisted, writhing to gain enough purchase to close the palm. "I do not know where you slithered out from, but I swear I will find a rock large enough to drop on you to crush you from existence!"

Hrm, that was a colorful little line. I laughed at him, I had no need to threaten this petulant man. No need to kill him, his syphilis would effectively do it for me. "May I suggest you wear a pair of dress gloves. That should hide your secret from most prying eyes. At least for a time I would recommend not offering any handshakes until that tell-tale rash fades."

His eyes widened and flicked to the hand I held. In an action born of desperation, he swung out with his cane. I let go of his hand simply because I no longer considered this man a threat. He was consumed by rage and fear which rendered him clumsy. The greatest opponent he had likely faced down in the past was a shot of whiskey. A gasp down the hall behind me caused me to spin; Tuthill, Damrosch, and Carnegie all stood frozen in the hall. They must have recently emerged from the meeting room to witness this spectacle. Apparently, the unobservant Ruescher had not noticed the audience as he swung his cane again. My left hand swatted it away without even a glance at him.

"You monster! Face me like a man!" Ruescher shouted, as his swings with the cane grew more frantic.

Snatching the cane in mid air from his hands, I was rewarded with a moments shocked expression as Ruescher suddenly found himself inexplicably unarmed. Bringing the stick down across my knee, I snapped it in two and discarded the pieces carelessly over his shoulder. "Children should not play with sticks. They could get seriously injured. Go home Ruescher, I grow weary of this game you have already lost." I felt an echo of that voice inside whispering insidiously to pound this man into the floor for the sting of his words; the words that before had been capable of stripping me to the core of my pride. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to take a single step, then the next one. I rounded the corner and vanished from the prying eyes as swiftly as I could. By the time Ruescher would have realized I had passed him, I was gone, though I could still hear his impotent cries of rage echoing down the halls. Men with such secrets as his should do better in keeping them hidden.

With desperation I tried to wash my consciousness of the event, grappling with the raw adrenaline that now surged through me. Every fiber inside me longed to tear down some facet of mankind out of vengeance. For so many years I had withstood the trials of living as part of human society. I had climbed fraction by fraction from the dark pit I had previously been banished to in self pity. In so many minutes the stability of my precious new existence was being threatened by the ghosts of that past. My volatile temper had always been unpredictable, the notion of me ever having firm control of it was a shameless joke. I needed to step away, I had to find a refuge from the pressure that was threatening to crack the keystone of the dream I had struggled so long to bring to fruition. Why did man have to always destroy things he did not understand?

My fingers ran across the keys of the chamber music hall's piano. I do not remember the hallways I walked through, the staircases I had descended to reach the small hall. And yet, I stood before the Steinway with my head bent. The clock was ticking away and I had to expend as much of the frustration that was chocking me as swiftly as possible. Dropping down onto the bench, my fingers were automatically aligning themselves instinctively to the chord I wanted. A quick savage piece rending out from the piano should be sufficient. Before my fingers could even play a single note, the door opened at the back of the hall and the singers entered led by La Serenissima.

Grinding my teeth, I let my hands slide back to my knees beneath the keyboard. My nails dug deeply into the fabric. This was not good. Not good at all. If I managed to make it to the end of this day without killing someone, at least I had been wise enough to have already instructed my servants to have one of my broughams ready and waiting. I had to get some more opium tonight. This was no longer an errand but a necessity for the safety of all those around me.

"Oh look," the Italian diva's grating voice echoed across the smaller hall. "The little man has returned to his place at piano. Wonderful, so we are to be subject to his critiquing once more."

Someone keep her on the other side of the auditorium out of striking distance or I swear, I _will_ kill her. I had already bitten my tongue once today. How much was I willing to bleed for my stubborn pride? How much was I truly expected to be capable of?

Crowding onto the stage around the piano, the performers were laughing and bustling about. There had been no list supplied for their order, but I did not care, I just wanted this trial to be over. I was hardly giving their words any consideration when La Serenissima's hand came down on the piano's keyboard creating a horrid din. "Little man! Are you listening? I said I am to be first today."

Turning my heated eyes to meet her overindulged features, I felt fate teasing me. Fine, let her throw herself before my wrath. When I was through spending my anger on tearing apart every hideous squeal she produced, she would be fortunate to have the will power to look in a mirror.

"That's better." She sneered at me. "Now that I have your attention, I am ready to begin my aria, the renowned _Martern aller Arten._ Skip the pointless introduction, you may begin at the important. Where I come in." She waved her feather fan right before my face. If she wasn't careful, she would be eating that fan.

"Sir, where is the sheet music?" A singer who had been absent for the previous rehearsal asked.

"I do not require it." I replied darkly, my fingers snapped to the chords right before the entrance to La Serenissima's inappropriately chosen piece. The song was entirely unfit for her voice. The range stretching both too high and too low. The movements were too swift for her sluggish voice to transition with grace. If I had had a year with her, I doubt I could have developed an improvement. This was simply the wrong piece. Not that there truly was a good piece for her—except perhaps one that involved devout silence.

Running through the chords, I did not have long to wait. One single bleat and I stopped. "You are late. And flat. Again."

She snapped a glare at me. "I was not."

I did not wait, I simply ran back through the measure barely giving her a chance to breathe. Once more she repeated her leisurely entrance. "Wrong! Again! This time be ready!" The next I let her get three notes in before informing her that she had the wrong note entirely. Striking the correct run once more I slipped through the sequence hardly giving the diva a chance to even dispute it. At this rate we would be lucky to make it through even a third of the piece before her time was up. After rerunning the opening measure at least a dozen times, picking apart a fresh detail each time, I allowed her to get a complete sentence out before turning on her.

"Why are you even bothering to do this piece if you do not know it?" I snarled, "Mozart would be greatly displeased to hear such a glorious work turned into a disgraceful tragedy."

Flustered, she retorted, "You are not playing it right, little fool!"

"I assure you, my fingers have more a mind of the pitches than your voice does!" Violently pushing the bench back, I stood up over her. She blinked up in surprise to see how much taller I was than her. "I am quite convinced that it should not matter which notes I _do_ play, you would be incapable of even making a simple children's song melodious."

"I am a great singer!" Her hand flew to her chest and she reminded me of a peacock strutting with its breast thrust forward. Her dress was even remarkably the correct color.

"In which world, Madame." I replied coldly. "Because clearly it is not in this realm of reality."

Heat leapt to her eyes, "I have never been so insulted—"

"Then perhaps you should start to listen more acutely." I leaned towards her, funneling all my anger into the words. "You have not actually warranted any true recognition amidst the performing arts community. Your vocal training even lacks the quality of a simple chorus girl. Your pitch could be bested by the average eight year old girl. The pieces and roles you insist upon fall outside of your diminished range. Your sense of tempo and rhythm are so sluggish that if it had not been for the pianist or conductor adjusting to you the accompaniment would range a full measure ahead over every eight!The sole reason you ever set foot on a stage was because your uncle bought it for you! Tell me what skill as a singer _do_ you possess? I am running short on that list!"

Rendering an Italian both speechless and motionless is a great accomplishment for anyone to be able to claim. Especially one in a highly emotional state. The culture is rather known for a tendency to be potently expressive. Before me, La Serenissima was completely awestruck to the point of resembling a statue. As a prima donna with a powerful sponsor behind her, she had grown accustomed to throngs of people fawning over her saying 'yes' to her every whim. I had no doubt that she had never heard even a shred of what I had just revealed to her. She had likely even been unaware that Chantelli had greased a fair amount of palms to ensure his niece got center stage. Any semblance of achievement had been wiped away by the torrential downpour of my harsh criticism. There was not an ounce of pity in my voice as I continued.

"If you intend to set one foot on _my_ stage again you, will select another piece more fitting to your meager talent!"

She found a little courage. "This is not your stage, you only sit at the piano bench for rehearsals."

"Are you so sure?" I snapped back. "Ask your uncle Chantelli who I am to this Music Hall, I daresay after this morning he shall never again forget my singular name!"

"What does he have to do this?" She was completely confused.

I smiled darkly. "Why, this very morning he was trying to secure you a place at top billing. He was not very well received." Behind me the other singers were a bit restless, likely not thrilled with the revelation. More than one expression of disgust was flung towards the diva.

Growing a little more furious with that famous Italian love of an argument she spat back, "And how would you know all of this?"

Folding my arms across my chest, I glared at her. "Because my signature is all over this building. From the foundations to the cornices, many of which I carved with my own hands. The very designs bear my signature. Andrew Carnegie chose me as a confidant of his vision over two years ago. Since then I have sweated and bled for that dream. There is no amount of money, regardless of its source, that will let me yield from his vision of what this stage is to become to the world. So, if you think I am but a humble pianist at your disposal you have fallen incredibly short of the truth! If you wish to see your name, as even a further suggestion, you must impress me. And you have a long way to go to achieve that goal. In fact it is so lofty even the stars must look up to see your chances!"

That was the last she could stand. Even stubborn Italian pride could not withstand that. Swinging the fan before her to hide her face, she released a pitiful wail of anguish before she spun in a swirl of peacock blue skirts and raced for the door. I watched and relished the echo of every time her shoe slapped the floor. The resounding echo of the door slammed in the back of the hall announced her departure.

With a graceful swivel, I shed my coat and laid it beside me on the bench before resuming my place at the keys. "Next!" I shouted, I may have spent the worst of my temper on La Serenissima but it was far from tamed.

No one stepped forward. All eyes were still locked on the door in the back of the hall.

"Signor," Annitolli finally broke the silence tentatively. "Do you not think that was a bit harsh?"

"No." Offering him a sideways glare I kept my tone coldly flat. "She deserved to hear the truth before embarrassing herself further. It is not my fault no one informed her prior to this."

"Perhaps a little kinder presentation would have been sufficient." He continued without much force. "Perhaps an apology."

"Does an ocean wave apologize after washing away a crying child's sandcastle?" I remarked, "Dreams built on false foundations will eventually be torn by the relentless forces of nature. It is simply the order of things. The only way to ensure a dream withstands the torrents of time is to lay the foundation in hard work and skills. Anything less and the accomplishment is not worth recognition."

He held out a hand towards the door. "But even still, society holds us to be considerate of the feelings of others."

I offered him a smirk. "You fool yourself if that is your belief. Society plays make believe, and does a horrid job at that. The veil of honor that apparently is at the core is frequently infected by the rotting morals of men who would quite simply lash out and strike another in the back rather than in fair combat where he knows he would lose."

He drew back, clearly disturbed by the imagery I had conjured up. "You would strike a woman?" He must have assumed I was referring to a duel with La Serenissima. Now that was laughable.

I scoffed, "Never! Not even in defense would my hand fly on one of the fairer sex. Ever! Just because I will let my tongue loose on a woman does not mean my hand holds the same regard."

Annitolli shifted a little uncomfortably. "I should go and be sure La Serenissima is alright; even if you will not, Signor."

"As you wish." Shrugging I turned to the gathered singers. "I said 'next' some time ago. Who is ready?"

The door swung open in the back of chamber music hall, Annitolli could not possibly have reached the back yet. Walking slowly up the aisle to the stage was Christine, her steps a little heavy, hesitant. I stood up taking a few strides towards the edge of the stage. "Chr … Madame Daae," the anger banished by my surprise of her arrival, my voice had softened considerably. "I did not think you would be in attendance today. How is young Charles?" He had been sleeping this morning before I left.

She offered me a quick glance before turning for the steps, "He insisted I come to the rehearsal today when he woke up. After his tearful pleas, I could not refuse him. I am unsure how well I will be able to sing today."

All eyes were on her as word had clearly traveled around the hall and surely everyone knew of at least the basic events that occurred two nights back after the last rehearsal. They moved aside and motioned her to a chair as I returned to the bench, "Well, my dear," I tried to sound encouraging. "Let us not squander your child's wishes. I am sure we can use the music to help you escape a little."

"Monsieur Erik," Her voice was tight, and overly-controlled. A little disconcerting. "I do not wish to escape, I find myself in the throws of overcoming."

What had I said or done last night? Clearing my throat I nodded and turned back to the keys. "As you wish, music holds many remedies for the soul. When your turn comes we shall do what we can."

Numbed by confusion, I waded through the singers one by one. I offered critiques here and there, some advice. No less than two cases, I suggested a different, more suitable piece of music, one of which was to increase the difficulty. Christine waited in stoney silence until the end. She approached the piano under the watchful eyes of the others. She was stiff and mechanical.

"Madame Daae," I forced her to meet my eye. "May I suggest relaxing a little. I understand the current strain, however your pitch will suffer from the physical tension."

She took a deep breath. "Perhaps a little warm up first?" She had been the first to request one. Arrogantly the others had jumped right into the pieces like it was a contest to see who could do best from a raw start.

I complied to her wish, running the scales in a gentle cascade to let her find her center again. She was trying unsuccessfully, just as I had been, to shed that tension. "Nearly," I coached, "you're still too tight in the diaphragm."

She paused, looking at the keys for a long moment. Distantly she requested, "I need you to sing with me, Erik."

Staring straight ahead I was a little caught off-guard by the request. "If you wish … " I consented. "From the beginning, are you ready?" Taking a deep breath I accompanied her both on the piano and vocally. My register, a few octaves below, blended with hers to form a single golden hued sound. The moment I let the first note rise into the air, I saw the reaction within, the change over her frame. They may have been scales, but should it have been a full duet between lovers, the emotional infusion would have born the same intensity. She fell into that trance that consumes the true artist, losing oneself deep in the rise and the swell. Did she know that beside her I was falling prey to her voice as well? With each scale, her voice gained confidence, power, precision, emotion, freeing itself from a set of shackles that had bound it to earthy heights. Entwining with wicked pleasure, I let the tidal balm of true beauty wash over me. This could not last. We could only climb and fall so many times. I only had so many keys to play before we both reached the end of our natural registers.

Silence descended. Not even the sound of breathing in the auditorium, as their eyes switched back and forth between us. At last I glanced up at her, not knowing what I would find in her eyes. Gracefully, she let a smile spread across her face that echoed deeply in her gaze. "Thank you, Erik. That was what I needed."

I was speechless. Unable to find a single word. What the devil had happened last night? "My pleasure." I finally whispered out.

Casting her eyes out to the seats of the auditorium, she breathed a sigh, "I am sorry, but I do not think I can sing my piece. The subject is a little close to my troubled heart today."

Sliding the lid over the keys without a sound, I nodded. "Then, rehearsals are finished for the day. Dismissed." I took my coat up and put it back on. My thoughts were turbulent with all that occurred this day. The edge had been worn off, but inside my un-bled temper was still broiling. Looking at my pocket watch I noted it was already early evening. I had a ways to travel on my errands. As I stood, I was a little surprised to see Christine waiting for me by the stairs. The others had departed. "Christine, I would have thought you had left with the others."

She took the steps before me one at a time. "I wished to have a little company on the short walk to your house. I hope you are not troubled by that."

"I … no … of course not." _Oh Christine, we have to be careful, don't you know this? Do you care?_ It was risky enough, her request for us to sing together. How could we avoid the intoxication that our voices held for one another. I retrieved my cloak on the way out. Exiting the hall into the evening sunlight we walked down the busy streets with a little space between us. I would uphold what I had said to the gentlemen at this morning's meeting. I would not tarnish her reputation.

"Lovely evening." She remarked with a soft smile, the glimmer of the sunlight dappled between the buildings we passed caused her eyes to sparkle like deep sapphire. "It isn't even too warm."

Really? I wasn't about to mention that I felt a little like I was suffocating. Maybe it was just me. "It has been some time since the clouds had parted." I added quietly, my thoughts still spiraling. "I trust that the servants have been taking care of your needs?"

"Oh yes, the cook has been fantastic." She returned a stray hair behind her ear. "The cook was going to bring up something with more substance than broth now that Charles was feeling better. We were hoping you would join us for dinner."

I glanced away. "I have an errand I must run. I am truly sorry, but it is critical." Watching a few carriages pass by us I cursed my abysmal habit, but it couldn't wait. The trip was quite a fair distance to the south and I wanted to try and return before dark if possible. At the very least, to be out of the harsher parts of town before nightfall.

"It's alright." She sighed, unable to conceal her disappointment. "I understand you are an important man."

"It is not that, Christine." Ahead I spied the brougham in front of my house, waiting. "I made a promise to Nadir to replace his whiskey. The poor devil gets cranky when he does not get his nip. So you see? Before he gets more upset than he already is I need to pick it up."

A smile once more greeted me. "You can't send someone else, one of the servants?"

I offered her a crooked grin. "Not for what I had done to his last few shots. I owe him being troubled by the replacement myself." I walked her up the stairs between the two rearing stone griffons that guarded my front door on 7th ave. Opening the door for her, I gestured for her to go on inside. "Please forgive my absence this evening. I will be back before nightfall if all fares well. Tell Nadir not to wait up for me like he always does."

She laughed as she began to climb the stairs. "Is he always so trusting?"

"Unfortunately, yes." I replied in the same mocking tone. Swinging the door shut, I descended the stairs in three strides and swung into the brougham with two of my finest black carriage horses already pawing at the cobblestones impatiently. "To the Phoenix Pavilion."

"Right away, Monsieur Erik."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

Mott street. The heart of the China Town district was as close to an old world bazaar as they get in America. No matter what one sought after it could be obtained with a little knowledge of who had the capability to produce it. In this district, knowledge was power, and I was not ignorant of this fact. The people who resided here were outcasts, ostracized simply for being who they were. While much of the opulent portion of society chose to ignore this lot, I employed them readily finding their skills in various areas unrivaled. Much of my textiles were woven by the skilled hands of the Orientals. On the construction sites I frequently employed the hardworking man and rewarded him handsomely. But for those who supplied me with the whisperings of the underbelly in this city, I paid a king's ransom.

The brougham rolled to a stop outside the Phoenix Pavilion, a narrow multistory building of bright colors gilded in what appeared to be gold. It was rare that I came here myself, typically sending a trusted servant in my stead. Stepping out into the gathering evening, I surveyed my surroundings. The usual throng lined the streets. Vendors hawking their goods, everything from vases to beads. Businessmen exchanging deals on the street corners, much of it in questionable legality. There were few women of Oriental descent due to the immigration laws. It was incredibly rude how this country would allow the men to enter but had forced them to leave their families behind. I found a measure of sympathy for their plight. All this opportunity with little chance for a traditional future.

In my early years in Manhattan, the plight of a man who was unable to pay his debts caught my attention. He was about to lose his home and his livelihood to a greedy landlord. Taking the lesson my own life had taught me, I offered to assist him. The purchase of the land his building resided on was all it took. I now held the title and had no interest in turning him out. After all, my fee for the service of holding the title made for a perfectly harmonious relationship.

Stepping into the shop to the gentle ringing on the bell above the door, I felt the heat and was enveloped in the haze of smoke. I inhaled the sweet vapors and began to feel a memory of that euphoria I knew so well. The rooms were only faintly lit. Men lay on pallets dreaming under the influence of the dragon's breath. Some were not even alone, preferring to share their experience with another more loathsome drug; lust. Gazing around me, I was content to know the blissful sleep it brought I had the privilege to enjoy in the privacy of my own home.

The curls of lazy smoke rolled away as a China-man in a bright red silk robe came toward me and bowed deeply at the waist. "Most Honorable Erik, it is exceedingly pleasant that you grace our humble house with your presence." Shunyuan Ma elegantly rolled out the greeting in his native tongue.

I returned the bow, replying in his own tongue with ease, "Shunyuan Ma, I trust I find you well this fine evening?"

"Of course, fine Sir. And you as well?" He smiled broadly.

"I find my spirit troubled, great friend. I am in need of my next payment a little earlier than usual." Shifting beneath my cloak, I found one side a little heavy. My fingers slipped into a hidden pocket to find my Punjab cord. So this is where it had been hiding.

"Ah, that is no problem. We have a fresh shipment from this morning. How much, oh benevolent one?" He placed his palms together and bowed slightly again.

Mimicking the gesture, I followed it by showing two fingers on my left hand. "Twice the usual. I promise it is just this once."

He winked knowingly. "Music Hall project requires more inspiration. I understand. Your carriage is waiting outside?"

I nodded.

"Excellent. I shall load it myself." He turned and vanished into the smokey haze, leaving me to linger in the calming effects they promised. There was no doubting the friend I had made all those years ago. Had it not been for Shunyuan Ma I do not know how I would have procured my opium with such unrestricted ease. I did not need more money, I had enough sources of that. A steady supply of the sweet poppy cake was beyond essential to ensure my sanity. This very house that I silently owned was that unyielding source.

My feet carried me about the room slowly as I awaited the loading of the small crates into my brougham. He would alert me to when he was finished. It was considered rude to watch this procedure as it demonstrated a lack of trust. Around me, not a single man was left in this realm. All were soaring to some unknown heights in the grip of the dragon's breath. My eyes cast over the faces, searching for anyone I might recognize. Perhaps some public official I might overhear murmuring some unspeakable secret. Who knew, after all the use of opium was hardly unacceptable in these days. It was shameful to do so in public. However, in private it was considered an indulgence. One of many in use during this age.

Stretched out on a pallet in the corner, beneath a tumble of auburn curls belonging to a local harlot, lay the figure of a man that caused me to look twice. Both figures were unconscious to this world. I narrowed my eyes, surely this could not be … he was thinner than I remembered, older now and clearly having been chasing the dragon fast and furiously for sometime. The chiseled features of the lineage and the cleft chin gave it all away. I stared down into the aged face of Raoul the Vicomte de Chagny. The man was half my age by now, thirty years old. But by appearances he looked as though his age rivaled mine. He was a mere shadow of the man I had known.

When I had left Christine in his arms back in Paris, against my better instincts, it was to ensure her happiness. This man was to have provided for her every need and desire, to cherish her for the whole of their days. I had gifted him with the greatest of my creations! The dearest of my possessions! What do I find? A reckless, gamboling, drug addict passed out in the act of adultery! How many more sins against the heart were possible to commit in a single act? Betrayal! He had betrayed her just as he had betrayed my rarely bestowed trust!

He should pay dearly for this!

Pushing aside the girl's hair, I placed my fingers against the artery in his neck and felt the sluggish pulse. Damn, he was still alive. Lying prone there, unaware of my presence, it would be so easy … so simple. The fingers of my left hand stretched out slowly, embracing the fragile exposed neck of the scoundrel like a vice. He would never have known what snuffed out his breath. I could crush his windpipe. No, no, that would leave post-mortem bruising. Shifting my grip, I once more felt the heart beat sluggishly thrumming. All it would take is a little pressure here, everything would be over so swiftly. The disloyal husband and negligent father would be punished for his sins, Christine would be free. A slow sinister smile grew on my face. It would be so easy. I felt my hand closing, felt the pressure beneath my fingers build. So simple to rid myself of this wretched boy forever! Men had smoked themselves to death before, it would seem that was all that had happened. No one would be the wiser. So simple, so easy.

Too easy.

I couldn't do it. Damn my sense of fair play! Besides, Charles believed this breathing carcass to be his father. Withdrawing my hand, I cursed aloud. Here Raoul lay before me as if fate had placed him on a silver platter and I lacked the conviction to deliver the death blow.

Stepping back from the pallet, I scowled at the sight before me. He was dead to the world lying in the arms of another woman, likely completely unaware of where his wife and apparent son were. And people had the gall to advise _me_ against a scandal? What would those same people have to say about this little travesty?

Shunyuan Ma emerged from the mists. "Your fee has been loaded. Once more we thank you for your generosity."

"Shunyuan Ma" I pointed to Raoul. "How long has this boy been here?"

He squinted, thinking. "He first drew in the dragon's breath two sunrises ago. Since that time he has not left." He shook his head gravely. "Many hours ago he has smoked beyond the reach of his money. There is no more in his pockets. He already owes this house beyond his means."

Nodding slowly, I took a long moment to consider what should be done. Reaching my hand out I requested. "I have need to write a letter."

Shunyuan Ma obliged me without another word, producing a fine quill with ink and a slip of paper. I wasted no time, knowing precisely how I wished to address this little matter. In fluent French, with my elaborate scrolling handwriting, I gave Raoul a chance he ill deserved.

 _Vicomte de Chagny,_

 _You awake to find yourself severely indebted to my house, a state I desire to rectify immediately. As owner of this establishment I offer you a way out. If you leave this city hastily without a backward glance, the debt shall be forgiven and forgotten as compensation. Failure to do so will result in the immediate requirement to pay in full the amount owed to the Phoenix Pavilion for the consumed product. Should you refuse, the house has been given permission to use whatever means necessary to claim the funds._

I hesitated for a moment, pondering if I should indeed sign it. Folding the letter in half, I decided against it. He would believe it incredulous if it bore my name. I was dead, after all. Laying the paper on his chest, I turned back to Shunyuan Ma to deliver the last of my instructions. "When he wakes he is to see this note. Have your men follow him and report to me. If he leaves the city by boat or train then his debt is forgiven and I will compensate you in full for it."

"Most Honorable Erik, if he does not leave the city?"

"Than I want to know everything he does." I replied coldly, "and you may use whatever means essential to procure the funds, short of killing him."

He bowed before me as I turned and exited through the smokey den. My mood was growing fouler by the moment. I doubted that Raoul would heed the warning and leave. He had been in that den the very morning I had been opening a few of the stitches on Charles's knife wound. The morning after the boy he knew as his son went missing, the man had been passed out on opium and had been ever since! Of all the irresponsible things! He never deserved my precious Christine!

The horses neighed as I climbed into the brougham and called out testily, "The White Horse Tavern, now."

The driver replied as we lurched forward. "Yes, Monsieur Erik."

Between the buildings the sky's hue flashed a brilliant red, cast by the rays of the setting sun. The horses traveled swiftly, racing through the blocks until we left China Town behind us. Traveling west, we had over half the island to cross to reach my next destination. Inside the brougham, I was seething with rage. All these years I had been tending carefully to building up a safe haven from the troubled waters of my dark past. All the time and effort carefully constructing this life I now lived and embraced, daring at last to be visible to the world that had shunned me. For ten years I had assumed that Raoul and Christine were living blissfully in happy marriage, never suspecting that the man I had given my greatest treasure in all the world had turned from stability to reckless abandon. Truly, I had never liked the man. He was a spoiled, entitled, rich boy who had never worked a day in his life. It had been a complete surprise in the first place that he had ever scraped together the courage to face me over the affections of Christine. And now, by all appearances, he had abandoned his responsibilities on the shores of Manhattan.

Old money, entitled money, those who lived off the death of those who lived before them. How morbid was that! Rather than creating a living for themselves, they squandered that of a deceased relative. Money, money was power. When it gets handed to an heir without them having earned it, is it any wonder that it gets abused? People like Chantelli, like Ruescher! These men didn't deserve half the influence they held!

The brougham rolled to a stop. Outside I spied the distinctive sign embellished with the white horse's head. Sliding out into the dusky streets, I strode toward the corner tavern, peering into the large windows to see that it was too early for the typical crowd. There were only a few patrons inside. Swinging the door open, I walked straight up to the counter where the keeper stood. Brennen Doherty was a broad Irishman, built like a bull. Behind the counter he was preparing for the usual boisterous crowd when I tapped the polished wood. Having been caught up in his work, he glanced up with a start.

"Good evenin', Sir. Tis been a time since I have seen you." Brennen smiled. "I take it you have need of somethin' for your cellar?"

Not particularly in the mood for conversation I nodded and replied crisply, "I have. The whiskey I purchased last time. It has been depleted. I have need of more."

Rubbing his fingers in a towel, he chuckled before tossing it aside. "Ahh, yes, I have some more barrels as most cannot afford that finery. I can fetch a barrel for ya."

I held up my fingers. "Three."

He froze and looked back over his shoulder. "Pardon me, but did you say three? As in three barrels?"

"I did, and with haste, Doherty. I am in a hurry."

"This must be some joke, no one can afford—"

Just as he leaned a hand on the counter, I placed a bank note beside it. "That should be sufficient including the loading fee. Now, fetch it so I might be on my way."

His eyes grew as wide as the sockets would allow as he muttered an Irish blessing. Taking the note with him he quickly vanished behind the door. I had paid far too much, we both knew it. But, it also meant that he would remember me once again when I returned for a favor. I did not have to wait long before the Irishman walked back in the front door rubbing his hands on the apron he wore. "All done, Sir. Wonderful doing business with you, again. If there is _anything_ I can do for you, just ask."

"There is one more thing I am after." I replied slowly, "Three days ago, after sunset, there was a brawl on the docks of the Hudson River outside the Fish Head Tavern."

"Yeah." He leaned on the counter beside me. "Coupl'a lads had a bit too much of the spirits and had some crazy idea. Something about a gambler who'd wandered off and forgotten something … what was it?" Brennen scratched his head. "Craziest thing I had heard to have left behind … oh yeah! He'd gotten on a boat to chase some ponies and left his kid sleeping in the tavern. As the tale goes, these lads from different ships were casting lots on who would take the boy into service. Sounds as though it didn't end well when it came to blades. One of 'em had been cheatin' at the casting of the dice. Course, the kid ended up lost to the waters. Apparently fell in the tussle, so it was all for naught."

My fingers rapped against the smooth wood. I had heard the man and it only served to darken my already sullen mood.

"Their ships have sailed off to different horizons if you're lookin' for the lads." He tossed his thumb over his shoulder. "No luck in that now."

Shaking my head, I turned to go with a swirl of my black cloak. "The lad I am after had better select a ship to sail from here or very soon he will be seeing his final horizon."

"T'would hate to be on your bad side, Sir." Brennen clicked his tongue. "Man o' your resources, there would be nowhere to hide in this city."

"Nowhere on this earth is more like it." I shut the door behind me and climbed into my brougham. It would take less than a half hour to return to the Phoenix Pavilion and beat that wretch senseless, as he deserved. I had trusted him. I had _trusted_ that man to care for her! How dare he be so careless with her heart!

"Monsieur Erik?" Above me I heard the voice of the driver. "Where to?"

Silently in the dark I considered my options. If I killed him, I would bear that knowledge. I would erase and degrade all the time I had spent carefully walling up that horrid pitiful beast I had once been. How could I face Christine then? Would Charles understand what happened to the man he had called his father? I could not do this. As justified as it felt to my broiling temper, I would deeply regret that action for the rest of my life. Leaning back, it occurred to me, Raoul was tempting fate already. Perhaps that wraith was already waiting to visit him and pay him his dues. Why must they come from me? Why should I sully my hands with his blood when he had already masterfully tied the knot on his own noose. I summoned my willpower and called out to the driver. "Home."

The crack of the whip rent the air as the horses hooves struck the cobblestones. The brougham began the journey back north towards my home. Outside the window, lights were burning in homes. Families sitting down to eat dinner together. Normal lives were proceeding as I brooded once more on how abnormal my life truly was. I had conned myself into believing that building an empire around me would satisfy the gaping hole I had come to realize existed since I had released the only treasure I had ever come to ultimately love. Before Christine, I had honestly believed myself entirely incapable of emotion. All that time, since I had handed her to that man, I had been trying to bury the pain of that incredible chasm. I tried to fill it with buildings, projects, musical scores, devices, anything that could hold my attention and distract me from wandering back through those madness filled days.

Suddenly, none of it seemed to matter; the struggles, the painstaking steps to lay a respectable facade, the gradual climb once more from poverty to opulence. Ten years and the entirety of an ocean were not enough to drown the Phantom's grand obsession. Apparently nothing in this world was capable of that godly feat. I wanted to lock the door to the manor and keep her there forever beside me. Raoul would never know. I could kick Nadir out if he tried to stop me! No one could stop me!

 **No**! This was insanity! How could I even consider it? This was not who I was now. It may have been back in those days. But not now. I had fought too hard and long to sacrifice it all now. No matter how much I longed to have Christine at my side, it was sheer lunacy to even consider her choosing that fate … as it had been all those years ago. Why had I ever made her choose? What kind of a wretch had I been to give her the choice of staying with me or I would kill the boy and leave her to wallow in misery alone? It wasn't a choice at all! I never would have known if she had done it out of love for me or simply to save Raoul's life.

The brougham came to a halt in front of _Clef de Voute Manoir_ where I slammed the door open and leapt out. Going to the back, I dug out a small case of the opium before returning to the side of the horses where the servant was securing them. "Have the whiskey sent to the cellar and all the decanters filled. Do not neglect the one in my study. The rest of the crates can be stacked in the hall upstairs. I will take care of them later." Not waiting for a reply, I swung up the front steps, the momentum carrying the cloak high like great wings. Nearly tearing the door off its hinges, I took the grand staircase two steps at a time before reaching my study. Charles was still sound asleep on the couch. There was a small fire burning low in the fireplace. Flinging my cloak back over a chair, I placed the case of opium on my desk. The tension in me was burning. I needed sleep, deep and dreamless. I simply needed to disconnect from my harsh reality for a time.

I crossed the room and pushed open my bedroom door. There she lay. Curled up in my bed sound asleep with a coverlet pulled up to her chin. A perfect angel, bronze curls framing her still features. So delicate, so innocent, so pure … I felt so hollow as the light behind me cast my shadow upon her. How could I have ever considered killing that wretched boy? It would destroy her to find him murdered, to learn what he had done to trample upon her heart. She couldn't know. She shouldn't ever learn the truth of how Raoul betrayed her … how all those years ago I had left her in the arms of a man capable of more damage than I ever could have imagined.

She was in my bed, asleep. How easy it would be to simply lay a hand on her cheek, a finger … sense that warmth once more. I don't even recall taking the steps, but there I was. So close all I needed to do was lean over and caress her . . . but I couldn't. I wasn't worthy of this angel's grace. I was a viper, a snake, a demon only fit for the savage fires of eternal hell! I wasn't meant to know happiness.

A hot tear escaped my eye as I bowed my head. Who was I fooling? Only myself. She had not returned to me. When this was over and her son well again, she would go back to the family life she had embraced. I felt my throat tightening. Before I risked waking her, I turned and silently exited the room. Grabbing the wooden box from the desk, I opened the fresh case and snatched out one of the cakes before fleeing to the rooftop.

Out in the night air I hastily packed the pipe full and lit it from the lantern. I couldn't inhale deeply enough. I could feel the sobs building inside me. I couldn't let it come to that. Please, just burn that feeling away! I was not weak! I could not be feeling that attraction! She was gone. She was never mine! The world would eventually come to see me for what I was … a beast to be loathed.

"Erik, what happened at the hall today?" Nadir's voice was stern as it cut through the building haze.

"Not now, Nadir … " I rolled my eyes to him sideways from the bench I was lying on. I learned a long time ago to lie down before inhaling too much. It had taken no less than a week to erase the bruises of my first mistake in that regard.

With a swift jerk, he stole the pipe from my hand. "Yes **now**! What happened? Christine told me something was wrong with you and since you were only at the hall today I know it must relate to there."

Bewildered, I stared at my empty hand. My thoughts already sluggish, it took me a long moment to realize the pipe was in his hands. "Give it back, I need it … " I whined pitifully.

"Not until you tell me what happened."

I growled but suspected it sounded more like a whimper. "Nadir, please … " Leaning up on one elbow I craned forward trying to focus on the pipe and grab it back. I found it a lot farther away than perceived and missed, nearly falling off the bench.

"Erik, tell me." His voice grew sterner.

Scowling I flopped backwards and looked to the bright moon trying to concentrate enough to string the words together, I had inhaled enough to effect my coordination but not enough to quell the anxiety. "Argument. Chantelli and Ruescher threatened me … it is over."

"What is over, speak clearly you are slurring."

"Give it to me … " I whined again, I needed more and I needed it now! The taste wasn't nearly enough and left me tortured between states and he damn well knew it!

"Erik, what is over? Don't make me ask again. What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Shouting out I slammed my fist against the stone bench. "I did not do a God damned thing, Nadir! Now give it back to me!"

He shook his head. "Do you have any idea how much you have packed in here?" His hand brought the pipe within reach. I snatched it from him like a wild dog. Bringing the pipe to my lips, I inhaled as deeply as I could, until I felt my lungs would burst. I held the smoke inside, feeling it begin to spread. "Erik … " his voice was softer now, though if it truly was or just from the effects of the opium I was no longer capable of discerning. "If you honestly want to end it all up here in reckless abandon I cannot stop you … but for heavens sake, please take a moment and ask yourself if there isn't some other way to wade through this mess."

I exhaled slowly, barely seeing the tendrils of smoke climbing to the stars, I was beginning to feel the tension wash away in the growing warm embrace of the drug. I continued to inhale breath after breath and hold it, forcing the warmth to hit deeper. Willing its sweet embrace to numb the bitter sting of reality.

Nadir's face swam into my view. He looked so incredibly sad before he drifted out of my vision. " … hopeless … " I thought heard him say.

The darkness was beginning to swallow me. Gradually I was becoming aware that this was not the comforting embrace I had hoped for … the sweet numbing peace that I sought. But realizing one is locked in a nightmare does nothing to dampen the effects. I was on a relentless spiral downwards, a sickening slide into the darkest pits of hell my imagination could produce. And given my life, my imagination was pretty gifted in that regard. Locked in the dragon's demented sleep, I rapidly realized that, though I was an escape artist, there was no key to release me from this self laid trap!

Running through the corridors of my manor, the leering shadows followed me in hot pursuit down the halls, voices screaming and crying out for my blood. Everywhere I turned they matched me. Hounded until I came to the large mirror. My unmasked face stared back at me … I wasn't the man that had fallen asleep. Instead, the small boy I had been when I first glimpsed the horror of what I was. My hands flung up to find my naked face, the mask was gone! They would kill me, just for what I was! A deformed freak! They wouldn't see the genius. They would ignore my ability to sing like an angel. They wouldn't embrace my skills as an artist and architect—I could perform the grandest miracle on this earth and none of it would matter to them. I was a left handed devil. A monster to be hung and burned.

Beating my hands against the glass frantically, I tried to force it to admit me. It had to, there was a way inside, I knew—I had built it. It was the mirror at the Paris Opera. The one in her dressing room. I just had to hit the switch for the counterweights. But my frantic fingers were trembling with fear, the voices were closing in on me! The tips were practically bleeding as at last I felt the catch give and the mirror swung! I was free!

Only to have my hopes devastated. On the other side of the mirror I found nothing but cold iron bars. I was in a cage, the back of the mirror had closed and was nothing but a flat smooth surface. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to catch. No counterweights. I was trapped!

"No!" My voice was so incredibly small, so young, so bent on hysterics. "Let me out of here! I want to go home! Not a cage, I am not an animal!" Clinging to the bars, I beat at their rough surface with my small fists. "Give me my mask! At least a shred of dignity! Damn you!"

But the bars did not yield. Out of the darkness, a rope snaked out and bound my left ankle, yanking me mercilessly down to the ground and dragging me across the floor. I yelled out in terror, uncertain of what was happening. A second rope snatched my right wrist. Despite my twisting, the rough ropes held fast and dug deeply into my flesh as two more erupted out of nowhere to bind my left wrist and right ankle. Before a mob of spectators leering and shouting in mixtures of terror and disgust, I was spread eagle in the middle of the bars, tears streaming my face as I cried out in futility. "Not this! I will not be stared at! Do not do this to me!"

That was when the gag appeared. I closed my eyes, forced to swallow the sobs that could no longer be expressed. There was nothing I could do. I was powerless, completely stripped of my dignity and any sense of humanity. I had been forced to surrender as the world leered at the horror I had been born with. No amount of wonder or skill would ever compensate for bearing the face of a living corpse.

The crowd's mixture of cries stabbed into me like knives being thrown. _Words can never hurt you_ is a phrase delivered by those who have not been subject to the most brutal of onslaughts possible. "Monster! Freak! Devil! Corpse! Abomination!" Women and children screamed and wailed out before me. Men gawked and hurled the insults relentlessly. My wrists bled from my futile efforts to break free, hot blood welling up and soaking the tough fibers.

Cold seeped into me. Perhaps it was only my mind casting the pall of death over me. Opening my eyes, I was horrified to find water beginning to climb up my restrained limbs. I thrashed wildly against the bonds, but they would not release me. Still gagged I tried desperately to make a plea, something. But there was nothing I could do. The water continued to climb higher and higher, torturously slow. Cold and stinging, it froze me to the core as it reached my waist.

 _Let me die with some dignity! Please, let me have my mask._ The tears blurred my vision. _I don't want the world to see this. Not this, not the real me. No!_ The water was at my chest, approaching my chin. I sobbed, stiff from the frigid cold I couldn't even fight any longer. There was nothing left, no hope, only stark despair. A few more moments and I wouldn't be able to breathe. The waves lapped at my cheeks, I craned my head back, trying to keep above the waterline. But there was no chance. The black waters closed in and I choked as my lungs froze.

I exploded through the water, retching and coughing, falling to the soaked stones in a trembling mass of tangled limbs. Everything that had once been in my stomach lay before my swirling vision. The convulsions struck me repeatedly, just as I was regaining my ability to breathe again. At last I only heard the sound of my rasped breathing, and the pounding of the driving rain. A flash of lightening lit up the distorted reflections in the puddles. I saw the bright visage of the white mask framing my wild pinpointed eyes. The thunder peeled deep enough to rattle my bones. The chill was real. I was damp to the core, soaked by the rain of the growing thunderstorm that relentlessly pelted my prone body.

Slowly lifting my head, I saw the pipe lying on the box beside the bench. I was on the rooftop. Was this real? Was I awake? There were no voices chasing me, no ropes, no bars. Was I truly awake? It terrified me, I had no idea what was real now. I could just as easily still be locked in the could be waiting for me just long enough to believe I was safe—and then—I trembled from the chill and the paranoia combined.

My eyes locked back onto the pipe. "You were supposed to bring me peace." I whimpered. "You betrayed me!" I would have thrown it, but my attempt to grab the pipe was thwarted by a complete absence of depth perception. I only grabbed and threw thin air.

I had no idea how long the opium had restrained me, drowning in past agonies. All I knew was that the sun had failed to rise thus far, leaving me in the dark, wrapped in abject misery. Freezing, soaked to the bone, and shaking like a dying autumn leaf in the winter winds, I attempted to drag myself to my feet and missed the bench twice because I couldn't tell how far from it I was. Some genius. I couldn't even get in out of the rain.

Finding the box and the pipe I crammed them into my pocket before redoubling my efforts to locate the infernal bench. At last, my palm landed on the top and I clawed my way to my feet swaying awkwardly. Nothing looked right, the whole world was pitching back and forth like the deck of a ship, my shivering only intensifying the effects. My stomach threatened once more to empty itself though I had my doubts there was anything left to come up as the last time had only produced bile.

There was no denying that I was still alive. The question remained if I _wanted_ to be. Right now was not a good time to contemplate that. Lumbering across the rooftop, I managed to make it to the door before a coughing fit threw me against the door frame. My lungs were sluggish, feeling like a limb that has fallen asleep. How badly had I overdosed? I knew I must have abused the chase and the dragon bit me for my trouble. I had to lean there for a long moment before I could inhale without the answer of a cough.

At last, I opened the door and left the growing storm behind me. Inside I still felt the bone deep chill. It had to have been raining for sometime with how wet I was. What would have happened had I not woken when I did? Splayed out on a rooftop, lightening could have struck me. I shivered as a roll of thunder promised me that would have happened.

Taking a few halting steps, I gripped my arms tight to my body trying to conserve what little warmth I had left. I had a flight of stairs to navigate with no depth perception. It was going to be a miracle if I did not break my neck. The first step down was disconcerting. I entirely misjudged it and nearly pitched forward. Numbed limbs are not good at compensating for poor balance. Tentatively I took a second step, this time trying to ignore my eyes and instead concentrate on what my foot felt. Everything was off, but this worked a little better. With third and forth steps I began to get the hang of what my dulled senses were feeding me. At this rate, it might take me five minutes to reach the bottom of the flight of the stairs, but at least I would reach them on my feet!

Thankfully no one was around to see me like this. I had banned the servants from the third floor and most of the second unless they were explicitly sent there. I knew I was alone as I staggered down the hallway. If I should fall, there was no telling how long it would be before someone found me. Fortunately, I discovered if I moved slowly, the world did not shift so violently and I was able to maintain a tenuous balance.

Reaching the second staircase, I silently cursed myself for having added the third story. A second time I would risk breaking my neck. Taking a deep breath, I began the painstaking descent. There was a little more grace now from the practice on the first staircase. I had regained a little more sensation in my numbed limbs and required less fumbling to gauge where the step would be. One step at a time, I dropped myself down to the second story of my home. Once on the second floor I drifted through the hall toward my study. I needed warmth and dry clothing at least. In my wake, I had left a trail of rain water. The faint glow from the cracked door drew me toward it like a beacon. I heard the whispered voices. I had trouble making out the words until I was along the wall just behind the door. Seeing nothing but the empty slice of the room the door provided, I had to be content to listen to them.

Christine's hushed tones were the first that bore the words I could make out. "I'm not certain he would understand, even if I could tell him."

"I must agree, now is certainly not the time." Nadir's reply held a note of tension. "Christine, I am deeply worried about him. He is not himself of late. I do not think he is handling all the events that have come to pass in good balance."

"I know." She paused for a moment. "I heard it yesterday. In his voice. I asked him to sing with me."

"At the rehearsal?" His voice was shocked.

"Yes. It was only some warm up scales. The sound was beautiful, as before. Oh Nadir, I would never have said this to describe his voice before. But yesterday, instead of the powerful surge it had once been … " she hesitated, as if saying the word made it a reality, " … his voice was timid."

Timid? Out in the hall, my eyes wandered about the dark corners. My voice had been timid? That was not right, was it? Granted, I had not let my full voice ring out. But I hadn't intended to hold back so much to be described as timid.

"It is not the only sign I have noted." Nadir continued wearily with a sigh. "And I assure you, I have seen this before in Persia when he was torn too many directions by the court. Though he is a man of extremes, his pride will never let him openly admit that he is still bound by human limitations. You know as well as I what happens when an obstacle threatens to stand in the way of his goals."

"You fear for someone's safety?" There was a long pause, I assumed a gesture of some sort I was not privy to. "Ours?" She was alarmed, almost incredulous. "Nadir, he would not hurt Charles or me."

His voice was edged with sorrow. "I would not be so certain of that anymore … "

She gasped, "He did that to you?"

Oh no! I remembered my hand on his neck, how close I had come to causing him to pass out. What mark had I carelessly inflicted upon him?

"He did. Normally when he wakes from that concoction he wouldn't remember it ever happening. In fact, I doubt he even recalls the occasion when he first showed me how to prepare it. I had been completely unprepared for the assault. Somehow fortune saw fit to bring him to his senses before he actually killed me. It hasn't been just this event that has me concerned, there are other signs he's losing control once more."

 _Oh Nadir, you have no idea just how sorry I am to know I have hurt you._

Her voice carried more tension now. "The outbursts, the longer moments of silence between, the seizure the other day that frightened us both. Even his posture, it's strange to see him without that unyielding confidence he once possessed."

"He is not the same man you knew, which makes this even more of a dangerous situation. It would seem strange to you, but he had become quite gregarious once we'd settled in here. Though he has always been a keeper of secrets, recently he has begun withholding more from me again." He sighed, "Like back in Paris when he had hid you away from the world, Christine. It's the same nervous twitches I see in him now, the same volatile moods and suspicious glances."

What nervous twitches? I didn't have any nervous twitches. Shifting my hand, I discovered my fingers had become tangled up in the tail of my coat. Oh … _those_ nervous twitches. Like the orbs, the cushion tassel … how many more had I not even realized I was doing? Dear God, I _was_ losing my mind.

"He learned from that past—" She said, daring to deny the grim picture my friend painted. "He wouldn't try that again."

"Christine." I heard a step, he must have taken one towards her. "Erik has been a miracle worker the entire time I have known him. I am often left astounded by what he can achieve with seemingly little effort. However, permanent stability is something that has always been beyond his grasp. I knew, even as I watched the facade he carefully maintained, that it could not last indefinitely. Eventually that would crumble and degrade into madness."

She was tentative again. "You are convinced he will once more turn back to the Phantom."

He barely paused, "I fear it may be happening even as we speak."

I hung my head, my eyes shutting tightly against the now burning light from the door. Here I stood, a statue in a winter storm … icy cold, drenched and pierced by words of sleet. They did not know how much I was aware of that festering voice of the past insidiously whispering. They did not know how many times I had turned it away. I could not blame them for what they saw, what they knew of me. It was no grand leap of logic. I had hoped my internal struggle had been at least partially hidden. Apparently, I had been dreadfully wrong. How many more were beginning to see how tenuous my grip was becoming?

"I do not know what to do." Nadir sighed, "but I will do whatever I can to prevent him from repeating the horrors of the past. Even if I must turn the key myself."

My head snapped up and I found it hard to swallow. What was he saying? How far would he go? I wanted to burst into the room and swear to him it would not happen. Dear God, don't lock me away in some cage somewhere! Don't inflict that living nightmare on me! My feet held fast. I couldn't face him, not like this. If he had considered my sanity slipping before, how would he feel if I burst into the study sopping wet and begging him to be spared, like a child about to be punished. My resolve to argue eddied into pools of humble guilt and despair about my feet.

"You can't do that to him." Her voice intensified, "Nadir, you know what that would do to him."

"Yes, just as I know what pulling him from the Music Hall would do. He needs that sense of importance right now, despite how the tension is eating away at his self control. He is terribly burdened. The weight of this entire hall rests on his shoulders and, so it seems, does the success of her opening nights. That yoke is slowly and inevitably crushing him. Christine, take care of what you ask of him. I dread that he is incapable of refusing you anything you wish."

My eyes fixed on nothing at all, gazing out into the vague blurred shadows of the darkened hall. Seeing myself through their eyes shook me to the core. I had felt the foundation cracking. I had been all too aware that I was pushing myself once more. What I had not perceived, was how frighteningly close I was coming to that edge again. Inside the room, the voices had fallen silent. It did not matter. I had no desire to hear anything further. Mindlessly I took steps away from the door. A puddle of rainwater intermingled with shattered dreams remained on the floor behind me. I no longer cared that I was drenched and cold. I no longer cared about trying to seek warmth. There was no hearth on this earth capable of touching the chill inside me. I did not know where to go in my own home. I was completely lost.

"Monsieur Erik?" The voice broke into my thoughts. It took me a long moment to even realize it had originated outside my head. I turned to see Marie standing at the top of the grand staircase. "There is a gentleman downstairs to see you, Sir. I have him in the sitting room."

A gentleman. Perhaps Chantelli had come to see the beast. Or Ruescher to finish the job he'd attempted to start. I nodded solemnly with effort. "I will be right down."

She turned and flew down the stairs, vanishing from my sight in a few heartbeats.

If they had come for my blood, so be it. Maybe it was Raoul come to take back his wife. What a grand fight I could put up now. Completely laughable, I was taking the steps one fumbling stride at a time. Go on fate! Pull the final chord and end this travesty. Let me tie the knot for you as apparently I have already started. I am growing weary of being forced to my knees and I doubted I could fall much further than this night. Or was it morning? Hell, I did not even know!

Hugging my still chilled arms to my body, I lumbered through the door of the sitting room with my eyes cast to the floor. Not out of humility, but due to the simple fact that I was still having a hard time walking straight. Coming to rest inside the room, I looked up to find Andrew Carnegie turning from the rain soaked window, his serene features suddenly overshadowed with deep concern as he took in my condition. "Good God, Erik! What happened to you?"

I looked back down at the floor, sliding my gaze from him. "I got caught out in the rain on the rooftop." It was the truth, partially.

"It's been raining for hours, and your garden is not enclosed. How could that just have happened?" He had been up there once, some time ago. When we had met over the plans, I had given him a tour of my house as we discussed the Music Hall.

I winced, caught in the half-truth. There really wasn't a good explanation for what happened. My mind raced, trying to come up with something when a coughing fit racked me and I was forced to lean against the table for fear of falling over.

Carnegie took several hurried steps across the room towards me. "Are you alright?"

My lungs finished emptying themselves of the bad air. I hung my head and rolled my eyes to him. Speaking was a little difficult, "I overindulged last night."

"With what?" His worry was plain to see as he looked up and down my dripping figure.

I sank even lower, turning away. "Opium … I had a very rough night … please spare me the lecture, the dragon's was quite sufficient." When he did not reply, I slowly lifted my head and looked to the decanter on the rosewood table. I gestured towards it. "Please, accept my hospitality."

"Of course, though it seems you need it more than I." His brows furrowed. "How long have you chased the dragon, Erik?"

Pouring the whiskey into two glasses I sighed, "Four decades ago a friend saw a need for that sweet breath to offer me a relief, a dark refuge from the deceitful world of the Persian courts. Ever since I have been a visitor in those misty dreams. However, last night in my recklessness, the dragon nearly devoured me whole." I took a few steps across the small room and handed the glass to him before collapsing into a chair. He gracefully sat down in the one beside me. I took a deep swallow of the rich dark liquid and let it scald my throat. The burning fire was not enough to banish the cold inside. It had no bearing on temperature.

"I apologize for coming here so early." He began, leaning back and swirling the glass as he chose his words. "But I have need to speak with you alone and assumed it was best done here, and not at the hall where prying ears might overhear." Sliding his eyes to me, he narrowed them. "What the hell happened yesterday? I understand Chantelli … but Ruescher? For God's sake, we came out into the hallway to find the man enraged and trying to hit you. Tuthill is afraid of you now for how swiftly and calmly you dealt with him. It gave the impression that you had done this before, many times, and it has become second nature."

In the chair, I felt myself sinking physically lower, as if the high back could hide me. Of course such a notion was preposterous when the chairs half face one another. "He was waiting for me in the hallway, what can I say? He jumped out and began to assault me."

"And you were toying with him." Carnegie shook his head. "We all saw it, Erik. There was no doubt you were in complete control of that situation. Had someone come at me, I would not have been calm and collected."

I swallowed another gulp of the whiskey desperately trying to find an explanation … something … anything. Looking down into the glass, I gave a resigned sigh and merely uttered, "Before you knew me I lived a rough life. It has not always been opulence and grand parties."

"That hardly explains it." He went on, casting an accusing glare upon me. "That man in the hallway is not the man who I have been working with for the past two years. That man is a stranger to me."

Why could I not think faster right now? Why must my thoughts be muddled from the after effects? I needed every ounce of my genius to talk my way out of this and here I was without a shred of it. My shoulders sagged forward. "Carnegie, please … all this time you have been prudent enough not to ask about my past. I beg of you not to do so now."

He sat up, studying me for a long silent moment. "Are you a wanted man? Is that why you hide your face behind the mask?"

My breath caught in my throat, I could feel my eyes widen. Don't ask me, please don't ask me! "If that was the only reason, do you not think an ocean the size of the Atlantic would be sufficient?"

"I see." He replied slowly, the tone of one unconvinced by what he had been told.

Shuddering I closed my eyes tightly. "Pray you never actually do."

A long silence stretched out before he looked away from me. "Erik, for heaven's sake tell me what happened in the past that grieves you so."

"Heaven does not figure into any of it, and the less you know the better." I glanced at him, wishing he would not have brought this confrontation now. Anytime but now.

"Something is clearly wrong, and right now I need the man I began working with two years ago. That passionate man who became a pillar of confidence to support my lofty dream." He was serious, his eyes returned to bore into me. "I swore you were incapable of it. I never thought I would see it in you—fear. Something is consuming you and I want to help if I can."

A sad smile briefly revealed itself before I could no longer sustain it under the pressure of his gaze. "I am beyond help … Carnegie. Please, just leave this to the past."

He heaved a frustrated sigh, "There are very few men as talented as you, Erik. I believe you fail to realize just how many times the Music Hall came close to failure and it was your stubborn belief that pulled us through. Your genius that provided the bridge that gave us passage to the next phase. What could have happened in the past that a man of your conviction could not overcome?"

My head sank lower, eyes fixed on my fingers that held the glass. _You don't know, you do not understand, Carnegie._ I did not answer him.

At last he stood up and started towards the door. "I will never again be able to see you as the same man I had before."

That was it, the last thread that held me dangling like a pendulum above the lowest pit of my despair snapped and dropped me hard on the bedrock. The pit I had dug was so deep, so far down that the brightest ray of hope to reach me was but a distant star dying in the pitch black above me. The world I had so carefully maintained had seen through my illusion, the game was over.

Falling forward into my hands, I was powerless to stop the wretched sobs that escaped me. Tears cascaded through the mask's eye-holes, traveling down my trembling hands. I was broken.

I had not heard him stop, had not heard his steps back to my side, nor noticed him kneeling down. "You really are a haunted man."

"You do not know how true those words are," I whispered.

He placed a hand firmly on my shoulder. "Erik, I will ask you one last time. What happened in the past?"

"You would not believe me if I told you." He pushed me out of the ball I had been collapsing into, forcing me to withdraw my head from the shelter of my hands. The tears would not stop, the gut-wrenching sorrow of having completely failed as a human being left me feeling empty and hollow. My pride meant nothing any more.

"Get a-hold of yourself." He spoke firmly, but not with contempt. "This is not the time for you to fall apart on us. We cannot commence the final steps without you." He was telling the truth, his eyes twitched when he lied. "Now. Walter asked me if I would request that you attend the orchestra's rehearsal tomorrow afternoon. He wants to know what you think of the acoustics and how he has them positioned on stage. Can you pull yourself together by then?"

I swallowed deeply, the tears were at least silent now. "I promise you, I will be there … though what state I will be in I cannot." It was pure honesty. I had no way of knowing if I was capable of dragging myself out of this pit. "Carnegie." I muttered sheepishly, "Thank you for not casting me out of the project … I could not have … "

A sincere smile crossed his face. He was still holding me up in the chair. "I know how much it means to you. It seems to be all you live for."

"It is … " I confessed. "Without it … " there was no finishing that thought. It would be a long climb that I had to commence swiftly. There was no time for this paralyzing melancholy.

"I will see you later. I know my way out." Carnegie released me and left with only a single backward glance. I solemnly watched him go. The man had come to my home in the early hours of the day, before even the sun had risen, out of concern for my well-being. I had to convince myself this was so.

Music had ruled my life, influencing my motions. I heard it waking or sleeping … always. A ceaseless symphony constantly composing itself. I never talked about it, observing the awkward chaos of others around me was assurance enough that my internal accompaniment was not something typical to human nature. Most of the time the music bore great beauty, grace, and dignity. Of late, it had grown gravely discordant, dark, and arrhythmic. Somehow I had to face this. Somehow I had to find a way to ascend back to being able to function again. I had to quell this fear of what the world might see. I closed my eyes tightly, would it work? It could utterly backfire. But I had no better ideas. Prying myself from the chair, I climbed the steps back up to the third story, as silently as a ghost. Opening the strange recessed door I saw a flicker of lightning reveal the contours of the room. It caught the large ornate floor to ceiling mirror in the back of the room. Oh yes, I had done it. When I designed the house, one room on the third floor was an exact duplicate of her dressing room at the Paris Opera, save for the fact that the mirror was mounted on a solid wall instead of a counter-weighted swivel. Obsessed? Well, there was never any true doubt where that was concerned.

A double flash of lightning lit the room, casting my dark figure in an unearthly light and mocking me with the memory of that night. The disruption to the gas supply that cut the stage lights long enough for the chandelier's murderous cascade to steal the audience's attention, all so I could perform my greatest vanishing act. Before the mirror, I sank down to the floor. I was shaking from the idea in my mind. This was unwise, I shouldn't do this now. It might condemn me to a worse fate. Working up the courage, I closed my eyes tightly. My fingers ran across the smooth glass surface leaving wet trails behind.

"Erik? What are you doing in here?" I spun back against the mirror, startled to find Nadir at the door.

"Go away!" I yelled back at him.

"We need to talk—"

I cut him off, my voice growing wilder with desperation, "Not now! Leave me alone!"

He leaned back, holding an arm up as if I might strike him. "Erik please, I— "

"I need to be alone! Just leave me alone!" I was shouting, my fingers like claws digging deep into the rug. "Get out!"

Wide-eyed, he backed out the door, shutting it with a click behind him.

Once more, locked in my solitude, I turned back to my reflection in the mirror. It seemed like eons passed before I could collect my tattered resolve again. I could not allow myself to surrender to this. I could not turn back. This was the only way to triumph over the darkness. Inch by inch my hand reached up. With one last inhale, I steeled myself and stripped off the mask.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

I lacked the willpower to move. Vision was unnecessary to know I had slid down the surface between the two worlds before having succumbed to both emotional and physical exhaustion. Attacked on all fronts and surely compounded by the vicious side of the opium, I had spent my final reserves, leaving me not even a shell of my former self. I was made aware by sensation alone that I was lying on the floor, my hand leaning against the cold unyielding glass of the mirror. Dimly I became aware that my other hand lay limply across the contours of an object. There was a red cast to my vision through the closed eyelids that matched the sensation of external warmth … it must be the sun through the window on my face.

My face. The object beneath my hand. It had to be my mask. I tried to summon up the strength to grip the mask and return it to where it belonged. The result was but a low moan. I could move if I really wanted to. The problem was that I found a complete void of desire to do anything. Maybe it was the throbbing headache or the deep sensation in my muscles of having been repeatedly abused or perhaps it was just how one felt after forcing themselves to face the reality of their deepest lifelong despair. Knowing how to pick oneself up off the floor and being capable of that action are two entirely different things. Slowly I opened my eyes to see my hand resting on the white mask. It seemed deceptively far away. The light from the sun casting upon me was entirely too bright. My eyes watered from the visual assault. Dismally I found that I could at least be content in waking with a roof over my head this time and not drowning in the rain. But the truth remained, I was far from content.

My fingers stroked the mask, an object I both loathed and could not live without. That was precisely why I loathed it, my very dependence upon it from my earliest memories. I could not be without it, yet even with that shield, I would still never be fully accepted. Mother had lied. She said that face in the mirror could never hurt me as long as I wore the mask. I had been a child, just a young and naïve boy who had his first horrific glimpse of his dark future. The memory of my bleeding fists with those shards of glass from the mirror I had shattered in my demented fear … even to this day I bear the scars on my hands if one looks close enough. The physical scars are not the ones that cut me the deepest … those were not visible.

Reluctantly I pulled my arm toward my body, catching the mask by my fingers and inching closer. It took great effort, but I managed to push myself from the floor and replace the mask. Sitting back on my knees, I slowly turned to face the mirror. I was still a wreck. My clothing was wrinkled from having dried while I was passed out on the floor. My eyes betrayed me, bloodshot and weeping from the irritation. My pupils were mere pinpoints drowning in the mismatched irises. Every motion I made was a hesitant, clumsy, twitch utterly lacking the typical elegance I usually portrayed. Instead, I resembled a marionette in the hands of a drunkard. There was no strength, no poise, no anything. I was worse now under the full effects of the hangover then from when I had first awoken from that twisted nightmare.

I had been such a fool thinking for even a moment that I could escape this. The damage was too deep, the wounds nursed far too long. Healing does not occur that swiftly; even for one who has defied death as often as I.

In the reflection of the dressing room mirror, I blinked twice, uncertain I could trust my vision. I had to wipe away the tears in my eyes just be certain even before I knew for a fact … I had not been alone. My shame had not gone unwitnessed. Bowing my head, I leaned against the mirror trying in vain to hide.

"Are you finally finished?" Nadir had been sitting in the shadows of the corner. Before I had buried my eyes, I had seen enough of his features to know he was gravely disappointed. His tone did nothing to cast doubt on his intent. He **would** have his talk with me, and I knew nothing I could do would change the outcome.

"Do you want the truth?" My voice was but a rough whisper, hoarse from screaming. How much had he seen? Or had he been kind enough to stay outside the door until my anguished cries had fallen silent.

"What do you think." The stern voice did not ask a question.

I sighed with a violent tremble. "Am I ever truly finished?"

"At least that is an honest answer from you." The anger in his voice was deep.

He stood up and slowly crossed to the center of the room. Trying to master myself, I glanced at him from beneath my arm before I let my gaze slip back at the floor. Stripped of everything I had no ability to influence him, he was entirely beyond my control … to be honest, _I_ was beyond my control.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, Erik?" I did not need to look at him to sense his rage. When I did not answer him, he took another step, raising his voice. "Turn and face me when I'm talking to you. You owe me that much."

Slowly, I twisted around and sank my back against the mirror, bringing my knees against my chest. I felt like a miserable gargoyle. Cautiously, I stole a glance at him before my shame forced me to look down. I needed moisture in my throat, it was too raw.

He studied me for a long tense moment. "You look as though you have been dragged behind a carriage the entire length of the island."

"I feel like I have been—"

Nadir spat out, "Tell me, since you carried on with this madness, what did your dreams tell you? You know what they say of those dark visions, when it turns on the soul it reveals our deepest fears. What did it show you, Erik? It was certainly enough to banish every shred of your insufferable pride!"

I swallowed, my eyes shutting tightly against the dark shadows. There was not a force on earth that could have countered the ripple of dread that stole through me. " … bars … " I rasped, " … cold iron bars from before. Surrounded by the leering crowds, every limb was bound to the bars unable to hide my naked face. Gagged, unable to use my voice to plea for release, for my mask … for anything. I was truly powerless as the world saw me for what I was. A terrible twisted monster! A demon rent from the hell fires below. It was not just a nightmare, Nadir … it really happened."

"And so, what did you do to obtain this knowledge, oh wise one?" His voice grew sterner with each word. "You foolishly went to the room that is a shrine to one of your grandest follies and stared at yourself, screaming like a child in the grip of a night terrors. What madness produced that remedy?"

Shuddering, I pleaded with him. "Please do not say that word … Nadir."

"Madness?" He mocked me in return. "Seriously Erik, it is the kindest word I can think of now! Can you honestly tell me that the decision was built on logic?"

"No." I confessed, "It was desperation."

He reached down and forced me to look up at him, the fury in his eyes burning like embers. "And for your pains, you made it worse! I knew things were weighing on you. I knew her return would unbalance you again just as her presence had before. You're courting the Ghost again! For what? To be drunk on that power? I thought you might have grown beyond the need to control others. And here you are unable to control even your own actions!"

I blanched at those words. "I am trying … you do not know how much I am trying."

He growled as his hands gripped the lapels of my coat. "You want to know how much you sacrificed? How much just got stolen from you? Let me show you!" It took him hardly any effort at all to lug my body from the floor and hold me against the wall. I tried to resist realizing rapidly that I was utterly unable to. "Fight me, Erik! Come on! You have always been able to overpower me, both physically and mentally—until now!"

I hung there in his grip as I was held against the wall, feebly struggling to just break the lock of his fingers. "Nadir! Stop!" I was horrified to learn that I had been completely stripped of all my abilities to manipulate others. The reality of my nightmare and the shadow of the past slammed into me, showing me just how powerless I had rendered myself.

Still holding me firmly, he glared into my eyes. "Pathetic!" Releasing me, he let the wall take my cowering body. "Before me is a man who, when he was barely more than a boy, dared to defy a shah on pain of death by refusing to utter a single royal title. And yet, he cowers as a wall holds him up now because he surrendered everything to the fires of some demented dream. How could you, Erik?"

Stung by his words, I found strength enough to retort, "How could you leave me on the rooftop knowing what I was about to do? Why did you leave me there when the storm rolled in?"

His eyes narrowed. "At that time I could not have stopped you. Had I tried, you would have found a way. As far as leaving you in the rain, I had not realized how strong the storm was until I returned to the roof to find it empty. At first I thought you had fallen from the roof until I took a little more care in my search and discovered your wet tracks through the halls. I stayed outside the door here waiting, anticipating that you might break the mirror and hurt yourself. When at last you fell silent, I came in and watched you, making sure you didn't stop breathing. Allah knows why I cared enough to do that much."

I closed my eyes tightly against the raw emotions I had bitterly grappled with. "How long did I rant?"

"Long enough I had to chase off the servants several times. Long enough for Christine to be drawn up here, frightened half to death that you had truly taken full leave of your senses."

Freezing, I locked my eyes on him. "You did not … "

"Open the door?" He shook his head, his arms crossed his chest. "Of course not. I refused and sent her back downstairs, promising her that I would make sure you breathed when the sun rose. I have fulfilled my promise. Though, your sanity still remains in serious question."

At least she hadn't seen this room. At least she hadn't seen me like that. Pensively, I stood there staring at nothing as my thoughts tripped and stumbled over the events of the last days. The years apart had the curious effect of stabilizing my once rapid shifts from exuberance to melancholy. Yet recently I had swung back into the spiraling array that must have been dizzying to witness. Rarely had I felt even a twitch of the seizures that had troubled me in the lake house under the Paris Opera. That very condition I had purposefully mimicked to convince Christine I had passed on in her presence. And yet her innocent gesture had again cast me to the floor in a panic, unable to capture my breath. With the rise of this music hall, I had begun to feel that I may have finally conquered that apprehension, that I could achieve at least one of my dreams even though the world had forced me to sacrifice countless others. The source of Nadir's Ghost was still safely locked away. Without that insidious voice I was still in control, after all had I not let Raoul live? Did I not spare both Chantelli and Ruescher? Yes, I was now painfully aware of how often my hands occupied themselves. Even now I felt my fingers sliding through the silken tassels on the scarf lining the low marble table. I did not bother to suppress the nervous twitch. Instead, I let my eyes wander to watch my fingers, studying the clumsy movements that should have been grace personified. The change had been so rapid. The decline so clear to them. Was it any wonder they were assuming the worst.

The silence had lasted too long, Nadir's tense voice broke it at last. "If you refuse to speak then I will. Ten years ago in Paris I was witness to a display of insanity so reckless that even to this day I doubt my own memories of it. The chandelier, Erik. How many people in that packed Opera died under the weight? You once told me how many tons it weighed—"

"Seven … " I supplied distantly. Seven tons of glass and metal all crashed down from the central dome of the Opera House's ceiling, the cascade effect of the detonation charges I had placed on the counterweights shortly before that night's performance. All in cold blood. All in some mad desire to possess Christine one way or another. Even if it cost me the friendship of the very man who stood before me now.

He shook his head. "Seven tons. The fire that followed from the gas lights exploding as the fixtures were torn loose gutted the entire place. You destroyed your work of thirteen years in as many minutes."

I held up a hand, desperate to cease this torment. "Please … we have already discussed this."

"You are correct, we have. But I think you may have failed to fully comprehend just how much damage your moment of selfish lunacy produced. Just how close you came to dragging us all down with you." The edge of the anger was old, as if he had been suppressing it all these years, sparing me for some reason known only to him. Perhaps only now, when I had no hold on him, was he truly free to speak his full mind. "I knew you enough that when I watched your manipulation of the stone that led to your lair I suspected a trap. However, what I had not anticipated that night was that you had intended **I saw.** And planned on me bringing the Vicomte de Chagny. That you would have risked taking that many lives that night in your perverse scheme that she would choose you. I knew then, in that mirrored chamber, that you were not thinking at all. You were intending to murder the boy, sacrifice me in the process even after your promise not to kill again. All the while you failed to observe your demented desire was only destroying Christine. If your little scheme had succeeded, what would you have gained?"

I swallowed, the details of that shameful night cast so close together leaving a hollow pit in my stomach. He had been witness. I had been the monster behind it all. There was no arguing the simple fact that he had been in his right mind. While I had most certainly not been. I did not want to answer the lingering question, but the silence stretched on. When I glanced up, I saw him watching, waiting. he would wait an eternity for to me to admit it if he had to. " … nothing … "

"That's right, nothing. The victory would have been hollow. And now, circumstances are even less favorable. Christine is married. She has a son who is believed to be Chagny's. This is a temporary situation. She's only going to be here for few weeks and then an ocean will separate you once more."

I shook my head. "But it will not change what we know— she knows I live, and I know the boy is mine."

Nadir leaned forward and pushed me roughly against the wall again. I had no choice but to look at him. Inside I feebly seethed that I lacked any strength to resist him. "That was why I warned you to stay away from her! You have no idea how much damage you do to others! It's staggering!"

My eyes drifted down to the dark brown silk cravat he had tied about his neck and tucked deeply into his vest. As he regained his breath from his tirade, I reached out a finger and loosened the knot, pulling back the concealing folds and revealing the dark purple bruising on his neck. Bruising in the shape of my long fingers. Sorrowfully I met his eyes again. "I know all to well what I am capable of . . . Daroga."

"Don't call me that!" He snarled.

I closed my eyes against the well of fear. "What better term for the man who intends to be my jailer."

Nadir took an involuntary step back from me. When I once more had the fortitude to open my eyes, I observed the shock that colored his features. "Erik—you didn't hear!"

I nodded slowly.

"How much?"

"Enough to know, once more, that which I value most is at risk. You think a simple pipe dream would be sufficient to drive me before the torture of my own reflection?" My hand slid behind me, caressing the lifeless glass that held the power to amaze and destroy a man. "The betrayal of those words certainly held the greater incentive. It appears I am not the only one who has inflicted damage of late." There was no bite to those words, only weary resignation. I could find no other way to inform Nadir that his suspicions were not helping me; rather it was having the effect of pushing me closer to the edge. I noted his eyes drifted down towards my wrists. Drawing them together before me, I observed how they shook. I could not hold them still. It didn't matter, I knew he would remember, even as I painstakingly closed my hands into fists to recreate the image of past.

The anger in his eyes was dwindling. "Oh Allah. Your last night Persia, the ropes I bound you with … you resisted only slightly. The tension in your hands … "

"I had not told you of the Gypsy cage where I had been bound for display as the Living Corpse." I replied solemnly. "You had no way of knowing that past cruelty. When you came to arrest me, what stayed my hand from beating you senseless for even suggesting binding me was trust. I trusted that you had not been deceiving me even as I had played you like a pawn in those courts. And I still do not entirely comprehend why you released me on the road rather than condemning me to be put to death before the shah and khanum as I had deserved. Likely in one of the very chambers I had designed for their amusement."

It was his turn for stunned silence, his eyes were still locked on my thin wrists which lingered in the same position I had offered him. We had been so young then. Four decades ago with so much to learn of the world. I had been a harsh teacher and an even worse pupil due to the stiff arrogance that had been both my undoing and his by association.

"Daroga." I used the title purposefully, intending to call back the feeling of those days. "If you think I never look back with remorse surely you should have learned better by now. What do you think those sporadic days of melancholy are comprised of? Yes, there was a time when I had savagely torn myself from the fabric of morality and dared to believe I could not fall from the pinnacle of my masterpiece. That time has passed. And the cost was dearer to me than I have ever fully acknowledged." Pausing for a moment, I had to push away the surge of sorrow that threatened to lash me. "Do you know why I cannot? Do you understand why it is that I cannot fully face that dark past?"

Nadir looked up at me. Without the flame of anger, I saw once again before me the man who risked everything all those years ago. And even now, a man who stayed knowingly at the risk of his life.

My words trembled. "Because I had knowingly embraced it." He did not speak, only a slight shift of his frame as he turned those words around in his head. "You say I took leave of my senses … that is not true. I consciously knew what I had planned. I had embraced the Phantom and flung myself headlong into the role the world had cast me in." I lowered my eyes in deep shame. "Yes, Nadir, that means I had consciously decided killing you was worth it if it meant Raoul died as well."

He executed a staggered step backwards. "You have come to terms with this?"

I shook my head. "No. I have not forgiven myself for that act of supreme weakness. At the time, I had considered the plan flawless. I had let go of any real desire to be human. But it was not unconscious as you say, Nadir. It had been fully premeditated on the roof of the Opera … down to the last detail."

The sadness in his eyes welled up.

Daring myself to stand on my own without the aid of the mirror, I took a step toward him. I possessed a modicum of balance sufficient to shakily stand before him. "I let you believe I had simply lost my senses because it required less explanation. Regret is not even in the same realm of how I truly feel about that night. Why do you think I hardly fought you when you suggested the idea of deceiving her into believing I had died. I had realized just how much I would willingly relinquish, and I could not risk that depth of travesty again."

"It was easier … " he began softy, "to think you had simply gone mad."

I heaved a long sigh. "Nadir, I swear to you, this is the truth. No secrets. Over the past days I have been tested by fate no less than three times and each and every time I have successfully turned away. When Chantelli tried to unmask me in the meeting, I only stayed his hand and gave him a tongue lashing. Ruescher came so close he nearly struck me with his cane. I only took that from him and broke it over my knee before giving it back. Both men are still breathing. The greatest test was finding that boy asleep in my opium den. When I left, he still breathed … racking up an alarming bill."

Nadir cocked his head. "Which boy? What are you talking about."

"Raoul." I replied wearily before realizing what I was admitting.

"Raoul de Chagny was at the Phoenix Pavilion?" He slowly connected the pieces. "Oh Allah! Erik, don't you dare collect the bill in blood from him!"

I shrugged. "It is not my concern at the moment. I am merely keeping an eye on his activities and not liking what I am learning."

There was a frantic air infecting Nadir's motions. "Erik, you can't—just leave him be. Do not touch Chagny!"

Raising my hand, I showed him the full tremor I could not quell. "You really think I would try it now? Seriously, Nadir. I do not truly have a death wish. The boy's fate is his own. He is merely being tailed for informative purposes."

He took a step towards me and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "Erik, do not delve down those dark paths again. You regretted before. Would it be wise to repeat that act again?"

"Impossible. There is no chandelier in the main Music Hall." It seemed obvious to me.

Nadir scowled. He must have assumed I wasn't being serious and treating this like a joke.

I placed my hand on his shoulder in return, trying to force it to be still. "I swear to you, Nadir. I will not allow myself to fall from that pinnacle again. Though right now I am a shambles, I will find some way to restore your trust in me. Promise me you will give me the benefit of the doubt and time to pick up my shattered pride. Do not be so quick to turn the key." He was about to reply when I held up a hand to stop him. It took me a moment to find the courage to even think about my next words. I could not look him in the eyes. "If it should come to that … I will do so myself, willingly."

Under my hand I felt his muscles tighten. "I don't want to even consider what you mean by that."

I let my hand break contact as I made my way towards the door. "It is not what you are contemplating … ending my life by my own hand is something I could never do or I surely would have by now—countless times."

"Where are you going?" He started to follow me.

"To be alone with my thoughts, Nadir." There was no denying I was tired and still rattled from the experience. "Do not even suggest sleep right now. It is the last thing I want to attempt after last night." He was right behind me, almost too close. I turned and tried to glare down at him. Given my condition I doubted it had even a shadow of the effect I could usually render with ease. He didn't even flinch. That having failed, I rolled my eyes wearily. "My old friend, please understand that being alone with my thoughts actually means being alone this time."

"Don't do anything foolish, Erik." He fixed me with a firm glare. "You need to think clearly, smoky hazes will not help you find your way."

I turned from him, waving a hand in reply as I strode for the stairway down to the second floor. My wasted strength was at least not complicated by a lack of depth perception this time. Good, I had recovered before from having drained every ounce of my physical reserves. It took time and I had to be careful not to tax my body in the process. The effects of the opium overindulgence would gradually abate, my coordination would return, and once my head stopped throbbing like it was in a vice, I would be able to come up with some plan to demonstrate to Nadir that I was reasserting control over my faculties. Right now it would simply be nice to have control over my twitching muscles. By tomorrow afternoon, with no small amount of effort, I should be able to resemble something of myself—at least on the outside. My grandest illusion always had been a calm veneer over my turbulent inner thoughts.

I found my room empty, thankfully, as I switched into clean clothing. There was another ruined suit. Tucking the burgundy cravat into my fresh vest and securing it with an opal tie tack, I walked out into the study, pondering what to do. My coordination was too lacking to work on any devices. Music was out of the question as my headache would hardly benefit from the vibrations. Drafting … oh yes, shaking hands make fantastically straight lines. Snatching the orbs from my desk, I slipped out onto the balcony. If I dropped one, it would likely break. Not like I didn't have many sets scattered around the house.

Nervous twitch this was not. I owned the initiative this time having chosen to take them up. Rolling the balls clockwise, I was halfway through the first rotation when a ball slipped out of the confines of my hand! Somehow, my right hand darted down and caught it just in time. Putting it back in place, I started the pattern again only making it a few short passes before two slipped out. I barely caught them. Damn it, I can do this without even thinking—why couldn't I do it now? This was supposed to be relaxing, not frustrating. Time and again I tried to start the pattern and each time discovered my hand unable to confine the crystal balls.

" _Merde!_ " I shouted when one of the balls hit the ground and rolled back into my study. Following the object into the room, I tried to catch it before it rolled beneath the desk.

" _Merde?_ " The echo of my curse originated from a rather young throat.

I shot up from behind the desk to find Charles wide awake and watching me from the couch. I realized too late that he had heard and repeated the vulgar French curse. "Do not repeat that! Never let your mother hear you say that!"

"I have heard Father use it before. What does it mean?" He asked curiously as I reached under the desk trying to blindly locate the small rogue ball.

"It is a bad word … " I grunted. "I should not have said it around you." At last my clumsy fingers found it and I returned the objects to my pocket. Standing back up from behind the desk, I brushed myself off.

He replied innocently, "Words aren't good or bad, they're just words."

I closed the distance between us, not wanting to even retort his misconception. "Since you are awake, shall I take a look and see how things are healing."

"It itches." He wriggled his fingers in the air. "But I haven't been scratching—much."

"You should not scratch it at all." Pulling the dressing back I was pleased to see the wound healing nicely. The swelling had greatly decreased and there was hardly any weeping from the intentional gaps I had produced. It needed a good cleansing, but it was promising. "Let me just tend it a little. I will try and warm things up so it does not sting when I clean it."

He watched my hands as I vigorously rolled a small amber glass bottle back and forth between them. This wasn't whiskey, it was hydrogen peroxide. Offering me a little smile, he locked eyes with mine. "Mother spoke of you often in her sleep. I didn't know it was you at first. But it has to be you."

"Do not be silly." I smirked, still warming the bottle between my hands. "Why would she have been talking about me?"

He giggled, "You're tall, and graceful, and gentle."

I eyed him sideways. "Your mother likely knows many tall, graceful, and gentle men."

"Not named Erik." He grinned. "She said your name every night. When I asked her, she told me it was someone she once knew. You must be her lost bemuse."

Applying a small amount of the bubbling fluid to the wound, I found my thoughts a little confused by the boy's choice of words. As I wiped the bubbles away, the proper term hit me. "Muse, you mean muse."

"Yes, that was the word … whatever that is. Must be something nice cause she smiled really pretty when she said it." He watched me as I cleansed the wound again.

"A muse," I began distractedly, "is an inspiration to someone. Every artist has at least one at some point. It can be an object, a place, a person. Anything really." I suppose it wasn't a surprise she considered me her muse. After all I did teach her how to hone her singing voice. And it was my inspiration that led her to the front of the stage.

"An angel of music."

My fingers stopped for a moment, the trembling had not diminished. "She told you about that?"

"In her sleep, she said it. But you're not an angel. You're a person." He was amused, just a child working through some story he had heard.

I offered him a slight nod. "It was a surprise to your mother as well, that I had been real. When we first met she did not actually see me for some time."

"Why?"

Because I was hiding behind her mirror, casting my voice into her head, honestly too shy to reveal myself. But I couldn't tell him that. "I was her vocal teacher for some time. And at first there was a complication that meant we did not actually see each other."

His fingers began to coil the cushion tassel around them, back and forth. "She missed the stages, but whenever the papers arrived and told her she got a part, Father told her she couldn't sing. I wish she had more often. I like it when Mother sings. It's so pretty and she's so happy when she sings."

Gently scrubbing the sides of the wound, I cocked my head. "Your Father refused to let her sing?" How terribly rude of him to silence such a gift.

He nodded firmly. "For a bit. Mother told him she had lost her muse some time ago. But now that she found you, maybe she will sing more again. I would like that. Will you tell her to sing more, Erik?"

My fingers gently probed over the wound, the temperature was good. Just slightly warm. Snapped out of my thoughts, I nodded in return. "Of course I will ask her to. _If_ she will is up to her." I wasn't about to force anyone to do anything. Especially with how I was feeling right now about the consequences of my previous games.

"She once took me to a theater and there was this big—Oww!" He had spread his arms wide, it tugged on the stitches before I had a chance to stop him.

"Careful, Charles. You do not want to move too much yet. The stitches are all that is holding you together right now." I adjusted the pillow under him as he shifted, trying to get comfortable again.

"Err, I don't like stitches. They're itchy. Have you ever had stitches?" He asked as his hands began to pull at the old discarded dressings, I had yet to put fresh ones on him. It appeared if I didn't hurry he might start removing the stitches with idle fingers.

"Yes, in fact I could not have been older than you when I was stabbed." I drew my blade through a linen strip, making the new fabric smaller for the task.

"What happened, was it like mine?" Innocent curiosity lingered in his voice.

Making a few more strips, I sorted through no less than three different explanations before deciding. "No, it was not like yours. In fact it was deeper, a puncture to my chest. You were merely slashed, it is not deep so much as broad."

His eyes grew wide, searching the front of my vest as if he might catch a glance beneath the fabric. "Did it leave a scar? Can I see it? I wanna know what mine might look like."

Children by nature didn't know when they were being cruel. He was so curious, maybe it would be a comfort for him to see what time would leave behind. Against my inner trepidation, I forced my fingers to undo the buttons of my vest, and then just enough of my shirt. Somehow it didn't seem so threatening, so strange when I shifted the fabric and showed him the faded scar between my ribs. Time had nearly erased the small pin point punctures of the needle that had closed the old knife wound. The straight line ridge was still visible as scar tissue. I had been lucky the villagers of Boscherville had not had good enough aim to inflict a lethal wound upon me. They had managed to kill Sasha, my beloved dog. But I had survived the onslaught.

His fingers reached out, sliding from one edge to the other, exploring the contours as I watched, trying very hard not to hold my breath. My son was touching my chest, without fear, without apprehension. His fingers sought contact with me. "Why would someone have done this to you?" His eyes were studying it, each tiny little scar the needle had left behind.

"Some men … " I began hesitantly, "fear that which they do not understand. And in doing so, they wish great harm upon what they fear. It happened in the village where I was born."

His fingers danced over my rib cage, almost tickling me. The sensation was beginning to unnerve me, so I withdrew from his reach and began to refasten my shirt buttons. "I see now … " He muttered as if halfway through some revelation. "So that's why you are a seeker of knowledge. If you understand everything you won't be afraid of anything."

My fingers struggled with the final button of my vest, taking me a full three times to get it right. This was going to be hard to explain. Gently, I laid a hand on top of his head and met his eyes. "Oh Charles, were that the way the world worked; but it is infinitely far more complicated. I only pray that you do not have to learn as harshly as I, nor half so swiftly." He looked perplexed as I took up the bandages and started to dress his wound. I did not want to dwell on the words I spoke next, but I could not spare him this confession. "Fear is and always has been my constant companion."

"What do you have to fear? You're so brave, you jumped in the dark river and pulled me out. And you're so smart, you know so much."

I sighed as I adjusted the dressing. "Charles, it is not so simple. The world can be just as dangerous as it is beautiful. A fearless man would find his recklessness ending his life rather abruptly. Fear keeps us from doing some very foolish things."

"Who would want to hurt you?" When I didn't answer him, he cocked his head. "Why are you so sad?"

Finished dressing the wound, I leaned back on my elbows, lying on the floor before the couch. Just below eye level with the boy, I shrugged, purposefully avoiding the first question. "I am honestly not feeling very well right now." As he studied me a little closer, I found a way to explain it. "Charles, have you ever eaten too many chocolates?" He nodded vigorously. Good, this would be easy to explain with the simile. "You felt rather ill afterward, did you not? Something like that happened to me last night."

Giving a stiff nod, he offered in a serious tone, "You should throw up. That always made me feel much better."

I stared at him, the simple logic was amusing. Dropping my chin to my chest, I was forced to fight a little burst of laughter. "Well, Charles, that already happened … and it did not help. To be honest, it is going to be quite a while before I feel like myself again. I really only have myself to blame."

Beside me, Charles was quiet, his fingers folded and unfolded the edge of the comforter. "Maybe if Mother sings for you. It always makes me feel better when she sings me a lullaby."

A sad laugh escaped me. How could I explain to him that was the problem? Her voice, her very presence was simultaneously a remedy and a toxin in my life. Currently my own reckless behavior, driven by irrational fear, had stripped me of the skills I would need to even approach neutralizing the poison. That was as far towards a solution as I had managed to drag myself. Besides, she would never sing _for_ me. Those days ended the day that Raoul slipped a ring on her finger. I rested my head against the couch feeling decidedly worse.

"Erik?"

I must have been drifting off as I had to force my eyes open. "Mmm?"

"When I get better, can I see the rest of your house?" His small hand hung over the edge of the couch, hovering in my sight.

"Of course you can." I replied sluggishly. This period of inactivity was doing me no good whatsoever. If I didn't get up soon I knew I was going to fall asleep. "I shall take you myself as soon as you can be carried." The trouble was, I couldn't summon the strength to get up. There was nothing left. Even the trembling had stopped and I only now noticed it had been numbed by the wash of exhaustion. I was an oil lamp with only residue left on the wick, my flame flickered, threatening to go out and cast me into darkness.

"I hope it is as nice as this room. So beautiful, and warm, and safe." His voice was growing more distant, I tried to anchor myself to it but my hold was slipping.

"Safe … my home? That seems like a strange word for it." A yawn escaped me.

"It is, though. So much bigger than our homes back in Paris."

"Homes?" I let the word drift out. Concentrate, stay awake. Don't let go. "You had more than one?"

"Yes, we had to move from place to place." His fingers danced in the air, wriggling in a nonsense pattern before my narrowing vision. "My room got smaller and smaller. Even some of our things had to go. Mother said it was because there wasn't enough space for it all."

"Mmm, that is a shame." My eyes took longer to open each time they shut. I didn't want to sleep, I did not want to dream. No more of that inner world. Everything was slipping into black. If he said anything more, I did not hear it. If I replied, I do not recall. How much time was passing I had no way of knowing.

A hand slid back behind my neck. The sensation dragged enough consciousness to the surface for my muscles to tense and my hearing to return. "Erik, it's me. Don't strike out." It was Nadir, his voice falsely calm. "You fell asleep sitting up, I'm only going to help lie you down before you fall over. Just relax."

He had enough sense to warn me of his intentions. I was barely there, just lingering below the surface as he levered me down to the floor. My eyelids flickered open enough to catch a hazy glimpse of the study and Nadir's worried features.

"Shouldn't we move him to the bed?" Christine's voice floated from behind him.

I feebly shifted, not wanting her to see this. No, don't be here. Don't let her see me like this.

"Erik, just relax." Nadir laid a hand on my shoulder. "No, we'd risk him waking further if we moved him. He needs to rest, at least he's on the rug and not on the stone floor." He paused for a moment before sighing. "I didn't realize when I confronted him earlier just how drained he was. I should have known, I should have seen those signs. I shouldn't have pushed him so hard. I fear I am partially to blame now."

"Mother … " Charles spoke above me, "we were just talking and then he just stopped. I tried to wake him."

"It's alright, Angel." She soothed him. "Erik is just extremely tired right now."

"He's sick, isn't he." The boy asked quietly.

Nadir replied softly, "He's likely going to be, save for that I am all too aware of his resistance to that which plagues most men. If we can help him get some deep sleep, it may be possible he will recover quickly. I still do not understand how he can push himself to the brink time and again and somehow always managed to get back onto his feet remarkably fast."

I was cursed with good health. Everything seemed to pulse through me faster and I had no idea why. I once slipped Nadir a little of my sleeping draught. True, one full dose allows me to sleep the clock around without a dream, feeling refreshed when I awake. Nadir, on half that dose slept it around thrice and was quite groggy upon waking. He had thought he had eaten something bad for dinner the night before. I never told him he had lost an entire day.

"Christine, fetch me that blanket." His hand came down on my shoulder once more. "Erik, I know you can hear me. Earlier you told me you didn't want to risk sleeping. I understand why, but you've lost that fight. I have one of the vials here. I'll even let you feel the wax seal you place on all of them, proof that I have not altered it. I suggest you let me give this to you." He lifted my hand and let me feel the top of the metal vial. Cracking one eye open, I focused on it, he was right it had been sealed by me. "Just twitch your finger if you agree." I didn't want to. Even dreamless, I was wary of it. But the man was right, I was already on the floor. As my eye closed of its own accord, my finger twitched beneath his. Without hesitation, he pulled off the seal and made me swallow the fluid inside. "Now, just let it take you." It wasn't that quick, old friend. It takes a little time to be ingested.

I felt the weight of the blanket being draped across me as Christine asked, "He's going to be alright, won't he?"

"I hope so." He sighed, "I have seen him through some harsh times before, but this is the farthest he has pushed himself. I'm sure the overindulgence the other night did not help. The night terrors of the dragon can be extremely realistic. And knowing Erik's past … well, I must say that what he did tell me he saw was enough to leave me shaken. There is no wonder he has collapsed in exhaustion from the fighting that never ends for him."

Was he finally beginning to realize why I was who I was? What strength and reserve it took to endure on a daily basis? It's very easy for a man like him to go about his daily activities with little trouble. Trade places with me and the experience becomes incredibly more complex.

"I should have been more careful." He muttered.

"You couldn't have known." She had moved closer to him. "He hides things well. Even I know that he conceals everything that he doesn't wish seen."

"That's not what I mean." Replied Nadir softly, "He heard us the other night. He came down from the roof and heard me when I … well … " he was struggling for the words. "When I mentioned turning the key."

Christine inhaled sharply. "Oh no. He must be furious!"

"No." His voice was pensive, "He was heartbroken. You should have seen the pain in his eyes when he revealed my betrayal. I had no choice but to look away from him. He swore to me that what we were seeing wasn't the truth. He swore he could control it. In the end he made me promise to give him a chance to prove it to us." A long pause stretched out. "Christine, I don't know if I can. Whenever I watch him, I find my subconscious always second guessing his motives. I know what he is capable of."

Now the concoction was beginning to pull me under. I felt the slow ebb of my hearing. The voices growing more distant, as my sensations began to numb. I wanted to hold on, just a few more sentences. I needed to hear just a little more ….

"What does your heart tell you, Nadir … " Christine's words were the last I could hold on to before my thread of consciousness released me to sink into the depths.

* * *

When my eyes opened again, the world outside the windows was dark. The full moon cast her silver rays over the floor. Charles was snoring peacefully above me, his small hand hanging limply in the air. I lifted my own hand from under the blanket, studying it to see if it trembled. Not the slightest motion. Gently, I pushed myself up off the floor. My body was not entirely back to full strength; however my balance and natural grace had returned. I slid my hand into my pocket and procured the three orbs. This would be the test.

Kicking them into motion, I began the simple pattern of rotation. Producing that much, I complicated the pattern by flipping one ball over the others. There was no catch, no feeble slipping, my dexterity was back. Another good session of sleep should return me to my full physical strength. That was the easy part.

As I walked through the quiet halls of my home to the laboratory on my third floor, I could not help but consider how much longer the mind took to recover than the body. There were so many proverbs, the most striking of which came from Oriental origins. I had come across the notion after having left Persia's courts behind. What a shame, as I would have simply loved to have applied it to the shah and his khanum. It had been said that one could live beside a man all the days of his life, share every nuance of his existence and yet never really know who he is until he is made to face his true fear. Only then would it be possible to see the true core. Indeed, all my life I had been in denial to my true nature. I was a coward.

The word was bitter, even in my thoughts. I could not even begin to speak it aloud. But this last day had pried the truth from me without remorse. How often had I run from the mere prospect of someone really getting to know me? How often had my actions been driven by fear? Fear that my secrets would be revealed, that I would be subjected to the hatred of the world. Even now, I was afraid of facing Christine, knowing that she would never stay. The shallow veneer of my insufferable pride, as Nadir had rightly dubbed it, had been my vain attempt to cover my inner paranoia of the world seeing me as I really was.

Clearing off the bench, I filled a container with water and lit the burner under it. While the water came to a boil, I collected the dried plants I needed to make a new batch of the sleeping draught. Tossing them into a mortar, I began to violently grind them with the pestle. It needed to be a fine powder to go into solution properly, and even then it was a timely procedure.

The dragon had revealed to me what I was, and I did not like it. I refused to accept this fate. Somehow I had to rebuild myself, stronger this time. More resilient to the prying eyes of the world. Somehow I had to convince not just those around me but myself that I had nothing to be afraid of in this world. I had always shown a confidence I did not fully feel. Perhaps it was time to render that a reality.

Construction takes time, that was a luxury I did not have. For now, I would have to play an elaborate illusion of stability while I shored things up behind the scenes. I was about to commence my grandest performance. If I failed—my freedom was forfeit.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

Like a specter, I had entered the hall, listening as Damrosch gave the Symphony Society their final instructions before rehearsal began. Lingering on the highest wall of the full balcony, I recognized the first chords immediately. None other than Vivaldi's _Le Quattro Stagioni._ Oh what a mockery fate had in store for me this afternoon. The more discerning musicians identify that he had written this as part of his grand work, _Contrast Between Harmony and Invention._ With the discordant current flowing through my life, I found Damrosch's musical choice thematically a little ironic. Though who would have been privy to that affair, save myself. This was not part of the program. But the piece held such variations that it was being used to test the acoustics of the hall.

As the musical strains of the first allegro movement from _La Primavera_ danced in the air it created the fresh and vibrant images of sunshine dappling through the buds erupting along stream banks. I quietly strode along drawing my fingers over the backs of the red velvet chairs. If I closed my eyes, I swore I stood upon the stage with them instead of wandering on the top level in the back. They progressed to the largo movement. The long drawn out notes were as peaceful as the spring nights when the world was still in rebirth. Every nuance of the strings reached my ears, each subtle musical hue painted by their bows as Damrosch kept the pulse steady until the final allegro movement, when daylight seemed to dawn once more and the world burst into spring's abundant glory. The trilling ascents and descents continued to embrace me, following me wherever I roamed.

Climbing down to the dress circle, I was accompanied by the shift from E major to the G minor measures of _L'Estate_ , the first allegro non molto movement punctuated by rapid shifts from tense drawn out chords to swift cascades. It mimicked the tides of summer where the weather shifts from stagnant heat to torrential downpour in the blink of an eye. Lurking among the shadows of the balcony, I worked my way from the center to each side, my ears searching for each note, each loving stroke of each bow. And I heard it all directed to me as though I were there with them. When the second adagio e piano movement began with its somber dignity, I swayed with the gentle rhythm until at last the final presto movement with the relentless drive of a summer storm rent the air asunder. The frantic flights of the violins hung in the air about me, a tornado of music blowing across the hall to assault the senses with the fury of nature. Each and every note carried flawlessly, every one Vivaldi had painstakingly written.

On the second tier, my feet carried me along to the dancing of the allegro movement of _L'autunno_. I envisioned the cascade of leaves as they shifted colors from the stately green of summer to the deep russets and yellows of autumn. F major, such a masterfully stately key to write in when capturing the majesty of nature. Once more I strained to assess if each note I knew should be there was in fact audible. The balance remained exquisite. Nothing was altered by my silent movement around the hall. Even the incredibly pianissimo moments carried with pristine clarity, which covered the entire adagio molto movement in the middle of the piece. Each gentle plucked note accompanied by the hushed tones of the violins whispered over the quiet hall like moonlight cast over the barren trees of late autumn before the winter winds would strike. I smiled as I dropped down to the first tier to stroll among the open boxes for the final allegro movement where the stately measures once again hung in the air. Every playful draw of each bow blended masterfully, resounding off the walls without being diminished. Absolutely perfect. Every single raised seat in the hall would experience the same auditory banquet unabated. That had been my intention.

Reaching the parquet for the final _L'inverno_ I was greeted with the yearning tones of F Minor that built into the driving sheets of sleet and snow of early winter. The allegro non molto played with the senses, toying with the beauty of the world and the urgency to move out of it to shelter. The high trilling of the violins built to their frenzy of flying snowflakes and blustery winds. Shifting along the seats on the floor, I found my hand directing the drawn out movements of the largo. Like the shimmer of the sun on a field of crisp snow, the notes reflected a sweet beauty. Tenuous and ephemeral, but real. I sat down in the middle of the auditorium, my eyes closing as I brought my hand up to embrace an imaginary violin and bow. My hands had minds of their own as they produced the motions that would have drawn out the chords of the final allegro movement. Each sublime trill of the chill of the depth of winter dancing in the air. Each delicate stroke to produce the staccato of the bridge. I was rocking with the rhythm, moved by the force of the final dynamic segment of this masterful work, whipped up into the frenzied flurry of the winter winds to the final chord. Pulling the imaginary bow back I opened my eyes to find I was no longer alone, Carnegie stood three seats to my right with a broad smile on his face.

He closed the gap between us and sat down while Damrosch spoke to the symphony. Carnegie said nothing to me as I lowered my imaginary violin and sat back slowly.

"We have done it." I crossed my arms over my chest. "It truly is the perfect amplification chamber. Not a single patron will experience anything less than auditory perfection in this hall."

Carnegie's smile broadened. "Now, _there_ is the man I met two years ago who stood before me and swore to me I could not possibly achieve this dream without him. I do not know how you did it so swiftly, Erik, but it is reassuring to see you again."

If he thought it was over, he was incredibly wrong. This state was only temporary. A product largely of the music. I glanced around the hall, looking to her lofty ceiling gilt with golden moldings. She was beautiful, a kingdom for music. Slowly, I nodded. "It wasn't easy to face what I had to, but for this hall … this dream, I swallowed my pride more deeply than I ever knew I was capable. Carnegie, I swear to you that what you saw shall never again happen. I will not compromise this dream. Death would surely come before that."

"Forbid it." He emitted a little laugh. "You are always so serious."

I gave a slight shrug. "About music, always. It is what drives me, moves me, it is my very life blood. Without it … I simply cannot imagine being without it. My life would become immaterial."

He shook his head. "Obsession is the word, I believe. And it is those very people who create the greatest wonders this world has to offer. Visionaries. You are the heart of this hall, Erik. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently."

I had no words to reply. What would Damrosch say? It had been his father's idea to build the hall, his inherited duty to bring substance to the vision. And Tuthill, he was officially the chief architect. Who was I to be deemed of such importance?

"Let me tell you something." He continued, "Walter came to me with the idea of the hall and I knew only that I had substantial money and quite enjoyed music. I knew great musicianship when I heard it, but not why it was great. When I see you standing there, moved by the currents that I can only barely sense, I am all the more aware how lacking I am in the full experience that music is, the true art. Beside me now sits a man who lives and breathes with the fabric of an art form I only wish I could fathom. You hold the greatest passion of all of us. Even combined we do not come even close to touching the heights of your appreciation of the arts. I did not always see that as clearly as I do now. Only Damrosch sensed it from the first time you two met."

I cocked my head to the side, intrigued.

Carnegie laughed at my expense. "You forgot that meeting, didn't you. Your fingers never stopped moving. I could not discern what it was that you were doing on the edge of the table. It was Damrosch who studied your movements and picked out the piano chords of Handel's _Messiah_."

Casting my thoughts back to that first meeting, I recalled how the young man had been so silent and appeared to be brooding. All that time he was reading the chords of an imaginary instrument I had made out of the edge of the table.

"He was completely astonished, having gone home to pull out the score to sit down and assure himself he had witnessed what he assumed he had." Carnegie nodded. "The next morning he came to me, bewildered at having seen a man play the entire piece absentmindedly while discussing the building of the new hall. He assured me he had no doubts that such a man who held unbound passion would easily sustain the rigors of the birthing that these projects entail."

I should have been amused, however it did not sit well with me that I had failed to note what my hands had been doing some years ago. Increasingly I was becoming aware of their many betrayals of my inner world.

"Walter was right. And the proof is all around us now. Tangible." He smiled as he leaned back. "The opening gala is swiftly approaching and I am in awe at the reality of this once lofty vision brought to earth by mere mortals."

Damrosch leapt down from the stage as the Symphony Society departed. With hasty strides he came up the right aisle towards us, his baton still in hand. He was sweating from the rehearsal, visibly eager to hear about the acoustics. "Well?" He called out two rows from us, still closing the distance. "How did it sound?"

I spread my arms wide to embrace the whole of the hall. "Absolute perfection. Every note hangs true in the air regardless of where the ear is residing. From the most timid of the pianissimo to the grandest forte the experience will be sheer ecstasy."

He was breathless from the long walk. "Any adjustments to where they sit? The order? Placement? Depth on the stage?"

I shook my head, leaning back. "Not a one, Damrosch. The entire _Le Quattro Stagioni_ was absolutely exquisite. Tis a shame only we were privy to it. I rejoice in the fact that you are blessed with an extraordinary collection of musicians. I, on the other hand, have been struggling with the soloists. Some of which I daresay we may have to strike from the billing. How did rehearsals fair without me yesterday and today?" Rubbing my neck with a hand I was truly curious.

"There were none." Damrosch replied, leaning against the back of the chair. He began to tap the baton in some secret rhythm. No wonder he recognized my preoccupation. The man had the same current through him!

"Why?" I glanced up in annoyance. "It would be completely essential if they are to be ready on time."

Damrosch waved the baton dismissively. "It would be a little difficult for them to rehearse with their heads in bowls. Nearly the entire lot was ill."

Carnegie shrugged with a sigh. "I concurred with Tuthill's conclusion, I believe it to be something they all ate."

Frowning, I drummed my fingers on the back of the chair. "Spoiled lot, all of them. They would not be able to overcome a sneeze should it occur in the wings before a stage call. Rehearsals commence tomorrow regardless of how they are feeling. They attend or do not perform. Carnegie, Damrosch, I respectfully request the final word on who shall make the final billing. There are some who are entirely unworthy. They shall have two more rehearsals to prove to me their ability, or else."

The two glanced at each other and nodded before Carnegie extended his hand towards me. "Granted. I expect that list at the end of the rehearsal as well as your piece."

In the middle of shaking his hand to seal the deal, I cursed aloud fortunately in a language he didn't know, I had forgotten I was to be selecting something for myself.

"Vivaldi is chosen." He chuckled knowingly. "As well as Beethoven. You really should make it one of your works."

Sighing, I looked to the ceiling, muttering above my breath, "If I can adapt one in time."

"Adapt one?" Damrosch flicked the baton. "Why would it need adapting?"

"Most of what I have written was meant for operas." I scratched the back of my neck. "Requiring multiple singers there is not enough time to teach the parts. I would have to find something instrumental that is … presentable."

"You won't be singing?" Carnegie asked disappointed.

Flicking a piece of red velvet fiber from my trousers, I bought a little time. "Only if I can find the right piece. Trust me, there is some music I have written that no human ever should have considered touching." Blessedly, I had torn that particular unfinished manuscript to pieces and burned it in the Paris hearth. I never wanted to feel the emotions embodied by that work again, ever! No one should.

"Well, Gentlemen." Carnegie stood up. "I must go find William. We should be on our way."

"Where?" I glanced up, sensing I had been left out of some moment until I noted Damrosch seemed equally perplexed.

"Dinner, you all are to be my guests tonight." He placed a hand on our shoulders. "A long overdue celebration of how close we are to achieving our dream."

I stuttered half a dozen beginnings to protests before he silenced me.

"I will not be refused. I know you don't have any prior engagements." His eyes shined as he looked around the hall. "Get your cloaks, gentlemen. Our carriage awaits outside. We shall toast the heart of this hall." The gaze settled upon me and I was forced to look away, towards the stage.

He drifted off down the aisle singing a Scottish drinking song a little off key. Damrosch and I locked gazes, clearly thinking the same thing, though neither of us would be so cruel as to inform the man of his lack of pitch. Slowly I saw Damrosch begin to smile, a soft chuckle escaped him. Rising to my feet I had to laugh. "I suppose being able to sing on pitch is not a requirement to qualify for a patron of the arts."

"Indeed. We would find our audiences gravely small if it were." He flipped his baton, "Come on, Andrew will be wanting his scotch as soon as we arrive at his gentlemen's club. He gets cranky if he has to wait."

I could not help the amused smirk. "The man has never known true distress if waiting a few moments for scotch is his greatest annoyance."

He nodded. "You are correct, and some day I would love to know how you came to such a comparison."

We were striding side by side toward the back of the auditorium in pursuit of our cloaks. "Ever been to Persia? There are kings and queens there who have no concept of waiting for anything. Be in service for one of them over sufficient time and you shall see the grandest of displays a spoiled short temper can produce in humanity."

"I have not been to Persia. That sounds like a fascinating story." He opened the auditorium door and we stepped out into the lobby. "What were you doing in Persia?"

My hands came up, displaying empty air. With a flick of my wrist suddenly his baton suddenly appeared in my left hand. Astonished, he looked down to find it was in fact gone from his.

"Wha—wow!" His eyes studied me for moment. "How did you do that?"

I smiled and gave a little bow, handing it back to him. "I was a court magician for the shah of Persia. Illusions are a speciality. But as a rule, I do not share my secrets, so do not bother asking me to slow it down for you."

He was laughing at having been fooled. "Is there anything you cannot do, Erik?"

"Yes." I replied quietly, he may have been laughing. But I was not.

Grabbing our cloaks from the closet, he handed mine to me. "I would love to know what it is, because honestly, it appears you are capable of conquering anything you put your mind to."

I swung the cloak over my shoulders to conceal my flinching. "If you think I am some invincible genius you may be sorely disappointed. Every stone bears a weakness, some line of fracture or flaw. A master mason may be able to work around it, or hide it. But undoubtedly, that flaw is ever present."

Carnegie and Tuthill came around the corner. I could see the nervous glance my way from the latter who tried to cover it with a tentative smile. This was going to be a long evening, uncomfortable for the both of us.

"We're all here." Carnegie clapped his hands together. "Excellent, Gentlemen. To the carriage for our long overdue feast!"

As we filed out the door I noted that Tuthill would not proceed me, obviously preferring I was not at his back. It was subtle, but telling. Rather than fight this, I simply went ahead of him following Damrosch who was already engrossed in some bizarre conversation with Carnegie. I had to repair the damage my arrogant stroke with Ruescher had created earlier. I just hadn't figured out how yet. Though this was not the most urgent problem I had to solve. Somehow, I had to get through the multi-coursed dinner party without insulting Carnegie. I was not about to explain my inability to trust someone else preparing my drinks due to having nearly been poisoned by an adversary. Only because I had been paying attention to VanHollus's peculiar act of generosity did I evade the effects of the hidden rat poison in the offered glass. While no one could have been aware of where I was going this evening, as even Damrosch had been caught by surprise, I still had sufficient enough enemies in Manhattan who would not hesitate to secretly remove me from their list of blackmailers. Had I time, I would have run home and fetched a bottle from my cellar. I cast a dismaying glance at my door, just in sight as I climbed into the carriage, there was no graceful way to get out of this.

Sliding across the bench, to the other side I felt a curious weight in my left coat pocket. Discretely, I explored the contours with my fingers and discovered what it was. Great fortune! I recalled the last time I had worn this coat was at another dinner party I could not excuse myself from. The laying of the cornerstone had been followed by a full blown affair. Apparently, I had neglected to remove the small rack of vials, fully stocked with everything I required for just such an occasion. I could now survive the evening without arousing suspicions. Now, all I needed was a sealed bottle of wine.

Any chance of procuring one was swiftly denied as the carriage whisked us away down the streets. My fingers stirred in my pocket, gently finding the tactile markers I had placed on them. This only worked if no one was aware of what I was doing. If I had needed to see the vials, the illusion was a failure. The meaning of each intricately carved marker came back to me, I could do this.

"I hope everyone isn't too hungry." Carnegie leaned back with a smile. "I had them prepare a light dinner with only seven courses."

Twelve courses, why anyone figured such a gross overindulgence was necessary I would never know. Was it truly essential to consume meat from each order of edible animal at a single dinner? The aristocratic society seemed convinced it must be so. And refusing even one entree could be considered a slight to the host. Even the seven of the 'light dinner' was more than I typically consumed throughout an entire day. Nadir passed few opportunities to point out that distinction. The man simply loved to eat. I found it a waste of time that consumed useful hours of the day. Why sit in a chair by a hearth and drink tea when it can reside on a work bench to be sipped between adjustments.

"I trust there will be scotch." Damrosch ribbed Carnegie.

The Scotsman threw his head back, laughing. "How would you know, Walter? Too many nights on that voyage?"

"Too many nights in Scotland with you. And who would have thought the building we had been discussing would be standing this swiftly and awaiting her debut."

Beside me, Tuthill was quietly staring out the window, watching the streets pass us by. If any of us required a drink, it was him. He was stiff as a steel rod.

"I figured we had all been working hard these last weeks and it was beyond time for us to just enjoy a little relaxation for our pains."

Relaxation? Well, Carnegie, if that was your goal this wasn't precisely the best method, in my personal opinion.

I found him looking intently at me. "Erik needs to step away for a bit and savor the moment before our triumph."

"I would have preferred having the Music Hall to myself for that." I shrugged dryly, not intending to insult his generous gesture.

"I would swear you are determined to fuse yourself with the building." Carnegie's laughter filled the carriage.

Damrosch leaned back, eyeing me. "I suspect that we shall have a fine evening full of intriguing tales. Erik, I will not let you abandon us this eve until you have told us at least one tale from the courts of Persia."

This resulted in both Carnegie and Tuthill turning to my corner of the carriage.

Continuing, Damrosch tried to mimic the graceful flourish I had used to produce his baton earlier. "You cannot simply drop mention of having entertained the courts there and leave it at that. At least one story before the night is through."

I snuffed a dry laugh, folding my arms across my chest in challenge. "Need it be true?"

"Preferable, and perhaps a little demonstration is in order?" He was watching my hands even closer now, hoping to catch something.

I shook my head, unable to quell the laughter. "Careful what you ask for, Damrosch. A baton is one thing."

He smiled broadly. "What's the grandest object you have made disappear?" Now the other two were clearly completely lost by our conversation.

I closed my eyes as if in thought. I knew the answer to that, but did not want to confess. Christine Daae, of course, was my masterpiece. Well, it was better not to arouse suspicion. "The shah's favored cat from the middle of his throne room." That was impressive in its own right.

All three men were captivated, but it was Carnegie who continued. "While the shah was present?"

I nodded. "I kept her for several days, returning her before the absence was noticed."

They were all glancing at each other trying to deduce how a cat could have been stolen from a throne room. "But the object had never been missed, that's not so grand." Tuthill at last addressed me.

Shrugging, I turned my eyes to him offering him a cocky grin. "That _is_ the greatest trick, procuring something without someone's knowledge and returning it before they even note its absence. Especially all within plain sight."

"If he had caught you … " Tuthill pressed.

"Oh, I surely would have been put to death." I waved a hand dismissively. "No one was permitted to touch the shah's cats."

"Why did you do it?" Carnegie leaned forward intently.

Shifting forward a little myself, I winked. "Just for the challenge of the task. And besides, another young boy had a more urgent need of the feline's affection. So I borrowed her on a whim. Since the shah never noticed, it surely demonstrated she was not as important as he was insisting."

Carnegie shook his head as the carriage rolled to a stop. "You're lying, Erik. No one would have done such a thing on a whim, risking one's neck for a cat."

I laughed, spreading my hands wide. "Believe what you wish, Gentlemen. But should you ever happen upon my friend Nadir Khan, please ask him about the visitor I borrowed from the court for his, then ailing, son. You may find I have no need of embroidery in the extravagant tales I have to tell."

"I simply do not believe it." We filed out of the carriage with Carnegie shaking his head while reaching for his vest pocket.

"Looking for this?" As I tossed Carnegie his pocket watch with a casual gesture, I smiled knowingly as his features grew a little whiter. "You should be more careful. Now, I believe Damrosch to be quite correct. This should prove to be an intriguing evening after all."

Damrosch gave an amused laugh. "I was even watching his hands and never saw him take it."

"I know." I leaned against the carriage door casually. "I told you I would never slow it down for you to perceive. Now, would you like yours back?" His hand flew up to his pocket, finding it empty. When he looked back to me I pointed to Tuthill. "He has it."

Tuthill's hand cautiously slid into his pocket and he slowly withdrew the pocket watch, his eyes wide with wonder. "How did you do that without us perceiving it? We were all sitting there the whole time."

I gave a little bow. "You do not get a personal invitation to the Middle-Eastern courts by being mediocre, Gentlemen."

Carnegie cleared his throat, still looking at his watch in shock. "Shall we proceed to dinner? I think I am dearly in need of my scotch now."

We entered the smoky halls of the gentlemen's club. Decorated in dark woods and deep tones of greens and blues, the heavy décor was a little confining compared to how spacious I preferred my settings since leaving the confines of the Paris Opera. We handed our cloaks over and they were whisked away as we were led deeper into the cramped club. My eyes roved everywhere in search of one thing. Servants scurried all over, sliding through the halls carrying trays laden with dishes and bottles of all sorts. Coming towards us, I spied it. The sealed bottle of a distinctive shape atop the tray I discerned was a Riesling. I could not see who bottled the straw colored wine, though it hardly mattered. A swift glance to be sure the wax seal had not been tampered with and I was certain of my prize.

The rug was loose beneath my foot. A simple shift produced a roll which the servant did not perceive in time. In a cascade of fine cuisine and china dishes accompanied by the shocked yelp from the young man, no one noticed the bottle of Riesling that was to be my salvation, vanish from the tray in mid-air into my inside pocket.

"My dear young man." I reached down to help him up. "You must be more careful, are you alright?"

He took my hand and stood up, staring at the array of fallen food and dishes shattered all over the floor. "Oh no! This is terrible! The chef—he will—" Other servants gathered around and swiftly began to try and clear the mess.

"My apologies, Gentlemen." The host of the club came to our party and shepherded us from the mess. "I assure you, all is ready for you Mr. Carnegie, in your usual space. I have my best staff on hand. Please, right this way." We entered into a private room with a table set for the four of us. I specifically chose the back corner, conveniently next to a wonderfully attractive potted tree. Settling down in the high backed dining chair, I prepared myself for a long night of deceptions.

The club's host clapped his hands together. "The first course shall be along momentarily, Gentlemen."

Under the table, I used the short concealed blade that was my constant companion to cut the wax seal on the bottle. We had hardly a moment to take in the room before the door opened and the servants bustled in. I utilized the sound of the double doors hitting the wall to cover the sound of uncorking the bottle. No one was watching me anyway, their eyes turned to the first dish to be served. Ah canapes and scotch. Should have been sherry wine. But this was Carnegie's personal flare.

As Damrosch and Carnegie discussed the color and body of the scotch in their glasses, I swiftly disposed of mine in the nearby potted plant, replacing the liquid in the glass with the Riesling beneath the table as my fingers located the appropriate vials to alter the color and viscosity. It needed to be a touch thicker and markedly darker than the original straw hue. In a moment, before anyone happened to glance my way, I was swirling my glass above the table as though savoring the scotch. It was a perfect match, save for the fruity aroma which the glass contained. Taking an experimental mouthful, I was content to find the Riesling to my liking. If I should happen to be able to steal a glance at the label, it was one I should like to have in my own cellar.

"What do you think, Erik?" Carnegie asked me. "I know you to enjoy whiskey."

"Just because I happen to drink it does not mean I particularly enjoy it." I replied offhandedly. "The whiskey is more to the liking of my friend than to me. But so far as scotch goes, this is unlike any other." I held up my glass with a little smile. He would never know the true reason for that particular turn of phrase.

Gracefully, he lifted his glass as he indicated the intention of a toast. "Gentlemen. We have worked long and hard on building the hall. Tonight, we celebrate the near completion of this project that could not have come to pass without each and every one of you here before me. Walter provided the seed of this dream in his search for a place his societies would be able to perform in. Tuthill, you provided the leadership in her construction. Erik, your passion ensured we never strayed or turned from the path to see this Music Hall through. Gentlemen, this dream of ours becomes a reality in eight short days, May 5th is fast approaching! Let us raise a glass to her success."

The significance of five, honestly how the realization had escaped me for so long is rather remarkable. This hall was to open on the fifth day of the fifth month holding six concerts over five days. The Paris Opera held her first gala on January 5th. Within that grand opera hall I had haunted box five, even going so far as to have the box's reservation for the Opera Ghost written into the building's contract. One would think I had planned such an incredible selection of the singular number. And yet, the dates of the Music Hall's debut had been entirely chosen by Damrosch while I had been feverishly installing the roof.

Damrosch stopped the toast with his hand. "Not before I add my own. To you Carnegie. Without your interest none of this would have come to pass. I would still be darting back and forth between the piano company show rooms, frustrated at not having a home for the societies my father created. To Carnegie's Music Hall!"

Not to be outdone, Tuthill brought his own glass into the air. "Had it not been for this project, I never would have had the chance to see the great musical halls of Europe in the same light. Thanks to you, I have left a lasting tribute to the love of my life. May the hall stand for all time."

Their eyes turned to me. Apparently I would be required to speak. Moved by their toasts, I struggled for words of my own. I raised my glass and just spoke my heart. "Many have tried before us to create a hall that captures the heart of what music is to the soul of man. Though some have come close, all have failed. We have taken stone and mortar, blood and sweat, laughter and tears and constructed the perfect chamber out of that purest of emotions. Love. We have created this structure for the love of music for not just this time, but for ever onwards. Shall she always be recognized as the Western pinnacle of all musicianship."

Our glasses came together in the center of the table as we raised the toast. In one gulp we finished off the first course, and I only hoped the remaining courses would follow quickly. Fortunately the soup and breads arrived not long after our glasses hit the table. This was a truly well run club. It was unfortunate for Tuthill, that his soup spoon seemed to have been missing from the table at that time. The poor man searched for it till the rest of us were nearly done. He was in the process of asking a servant for one when Damrosch pointed next to his bowl. "It's right there." My hands were innocently picking at a roll. I suppose it was a little inconsiderate of me to choose Tuthill as my first prank of the dinner party, but his utensils had been the closest at hand.

When the halibut fillets entered, dressed with cucumbers and tomatoes, I could not resist the sudden disappearance of Damrosch's fish fork, which consequently reappeared on the other side of Carnegie's plate. I had been provided with extra time seeing as how I only needed to empty and refill my glass. Fortunately, fish always is served with a white wine. At least I was finding some level of amusement. And so, it seemed, were the others who had yet to note even a hint of how this little game was being played. Their eyes kept glancing my way as I continued to innocently pick at my meal, engaging in the idle conversation as though nothing were amiss.

By the time the forth course of roasted saddle of venison arrived with the vegetables, I was just hitting my stride. Damrosch proceeded to stab his meat with a spoon as I had reversed the entire set of his silverware when he had leaned over to share a private joke with Carnegie. Looking at the wrong piece of silverware in his hands, he raised his eyebrows. "Now … I could have sworn my fork was over there a moment ago."

"It was," I replied before sampling a piece of the dish.

His eyes fixed on me. "You're determined to make fools of us all this evening."

I shifted my eyes to him. Minding my manners, I swallowed before I replied. "I recall a request for a demonstration before we arrived here, was there not, Gentlemen?"

Carnegie burst out laughing. "Walter, you did ask him."

"What you have seen is mere child's play." I leaned back, folding my hands before me. "Take care what you ask for lest your food begin to serenade you."

Even Tuthill could not quell the snicker that escaped him. That was before his venison started a marvelous rendition of _Ave Maria_ while I picked at my vegetables. I could hardly blame the man for being unable to take another bite after that.

"William, for heaven's sake, that was a trick. Your food is not possessed." Carnegie laughed.

Tuthill and Damrosch stared at me. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" I leaned back, feigning innocence and taking a sip of what appeared to them to be claret. "I merely am eating dinner, like the rest of you."

"His lips didn't move." Damrosch was a little wider-eyed. "The pitch was perfect."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course the pitch was on. You expected anything less? It may once have been a deer, but even nature has standards."

Carnegie's eyes twinkled with merriment. He was enjoying this private show, and honestly so was I. Perhaps attending dinner parties was not so horrid an ordeal when one had such easily amused company.

"Erik, I swear to God that the music was coming from the meat itself." Tuthill pointed at his now deserted venison.

I crossed my arms and nodded blandly. "That was the point. Thank you for noting the obvious."

"How did you learn how to do that?" He asked.

Swallowing the rest of the supposed claret, I looked down at the table. "Entirely too much free time as a child."

The fifth course arrived comprised of sweetbreads. I briefly considered juggling them after a quick pass through the gas light. But then thought it a bit on the vaudeville side. Instead I decided to let this course go without interruption. The entire time, the conversation was idle, with suspicious glances in my direction. Nothing was swapped, nothing missing. I just leaned back bidding my time and contemplating the small floral arrangement in the center of the table.

The salad that was the focal point of our sixth course provided an interesting unintentional garnish in all but my own. All three men discovered in the center of their lettuce, a single bloom that had previously been part of the arrangement. I had ensured the flower for each had been visible to the one who received it. It was unfortunate for Carnegie that he discovered his by nearly eating it. Without even looking up, I polished off my own salad. One more course to go.

When the sorbet arrived with the little bonbons, I admit to feeling the effects of nearly the entire bottle of Riesling. Carnegie was a little too relaxed, having consumed a broader mixture of alcohols. But his relaxed state provided the perfect opportunity. Levitations could better be performed with more preparation, but it did not mean they were unachievable while being observed. The poor man was quite startled when one of his bonbons shot up from the plate to fly across the room.

"Now, those must truly be fresh to do that." I remarked before popping one in my mouth. "Ahhh, now I see, they are liquors. No wonder they have that little extra kick."

Carnegie left his chair behind to cross the room to the little rogue piece of chocolate. He picked it up, wrapping his fingers around it as if searching for something. I smiled, he wouldn't find it. The fine silk strand had already found its way back into my pocket.

My hand wrapped elegantly around the champagne glass. I cannot even begin to explain how long it took me to find a substance able to mimic champagne from the white wine base. I cast my relaxed gaze over each man I had spent the past couple of years working closely with. Their expressions were a mixture of amusement and confusion, unsure that they had witnessed what they had. "Gentlemen, this was quite the evening. I enjoyed providing the entertainment, and I trust your hunger for it satiated." I glanced towards Tuthill. "William, and you know how rarely I use the familiar even among our private company, I sincerely hope you now have a different understanding of just how swiftly and finely tuned my reactions are. Precisely why this is so should now be blatantly obvious. Can we cease with the mistrust over the other day's unfortunate confrontation?"

He nodded, dumbstruck.

"Good. I should hate to have any suspicions between us." I spread my hands wide. "Now you have heard a little of my former life and seen a little sample of how I first made my living. I hope this is enough for you, as much of the rest I do not desire to share."

Carnegie shook his head. "I would have believed you to have embroidered the tale from earlier. However, now I am quite convinced it was entirely possible. No wonder the shah sought you for his court. How long did you say you were there?"

"I did not say." I replied before emptying my glass. "But if you must know, four years of my life I influenced his court before rather dramatically falling out of favor."

Damrosch gave me a sidelong glance. "Did he learn who stole his cat?"

"No." I replied stonily. "He figured out who really held the power in his kingdom and desired to relieve me of my head to get it back." Standing up from the chair, I took out my pocket watch and glanced at the plant that would likely have a hangover in the morning. The empty bottle of Riesling still resided under the table. "If you will excuse me, Gentlemen. While Carnegie assumed I did not have any prior engagements, he was incorrect. I do."

"Wait a minute, Erik. You said you were a magician in his court. How is it you were influencing his kingdom?" Tuthill stood up with a slight drunken sway, his slow whit confused by the little detail.

"I was initially summoned as a magician. However, he came to ask more of my skills. My price for coming at his whim was exacting. And in the end he grew unwilling to pay it. I will see you tomorrow at the rehearsals. Good evening."

I left the room behind me. The host brought me my cloak and I slipped out into the night air. Fortune had placed me within a few blocks of where messages were typically deposited for my viewing. I reached the old fountain and pried the brick loose. Behind it was a hollow therein concealed a small folded letter scrawled in the artful penmanship of Shunyuan. My hands were already beginning to crush the letter before I even finished reading it.

 _The boy has woken. He has not left as instructed, but instead merely fled the house without paying his bill. Current location is with a disreputable gambler near Chelsea. Since funds were diminished, unsure what he is using as collateral. Will continue to monitor his activities._

There was no signature. This ensured no trail connecting the information. I slammed the brick back into place, before turning to walk up 5th Ave. I should have known he would not follow the advice. In fact I **had** known. Standing by his side, I had even admitted while penning the note that he would not go. This abysmal mess was only getting worse. Passing by a gas lamp, I lit the paper on fire and dropped it on the cobblestones. This was a dangerous dance I was in. After all, should he come to his senses his wife was in my home. He had undeniable claim to her, whether she was with me of her own accord or not.

Curse you, Chagny! Why can't he do the world a favor and just take a long walk off a short pier.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

"Ladies and gentlemen; Madames, mademoiselles, and monsieurs." Standing beside the piano on the stage, I brought my hands together, drawing the groups tenuous focus to me. The vocalists had gathered for the rehearsal in their typical gregarious fashion. It was time to begin, time to let them all in on the game. "Andrew Carnegie and Walter Damrosch have given me the distinct pleasure of assessing your talent. In the evening, seven days from now, the first concert of six shall commence. Who is deemed worthy of this stage is now entirely in my hands. Each and every one of you has until the end of tomorrow to convince me that you are fit to stand in her substantial limelight. I consider that fair warning. If you do not impress me, your name will not be on the billing."

Eyes stared uncomprehendingly. _That's right, children. You stand before the master and if you are deemed unworthy, the show is over. Let's see what comes of this._

"I trust that uneasy stomachs will not trouble us this day?" I smirked. "I will accept no excuses. No simpering or whining. What I desire to hear is true musical talent. So, I suggest you perform for me something that will demonstrate this. If you do not possess any—cease wasting my time."

Removing my coat, I took my seat on the bench and cracked my long fingers. "Five minutes until the first audition to allow you to prepare. Think well upon your piece, it need not be what you intend to perform. Remember, I am to be impressed, so you better make it count."

It didn't hurt for me to warm up a little. I finished playing a short collection of measures pilfered from Vivaldi, and then I called the first singer to the piano. "Madame Duchene."

The young lady stepped forward from the others, a bright smile on her face. "Mademoiselle, Sir. I am not yet married."

Fixing her with a glare, I waved her forward. "Whatever. What is your piece for today? Remember I am looking to be impressed."

She gave a little curtsy before announcing confidently, " _Ach! Plachu ja, gor'ko plachu ja_ , from _Prince Igor_."

"Russian?" I mused aloud. "Certainly not the easiest language to sing in. Alright." I had not seen this opera as it had been too new. However I had managed to acquire a copy of the score late last year through my oversea connections. Finding it interesting to play, I had set the whole accompaniment to memory in no time. I was hardly a soprano, so I was curious to hear the aria performed.

I gave her a few measures entrance before her voice soared into the air. It was nice, good quality and light, which is fitting for a soprano. Not too bright on the higher notes and with a decent possession of depth on the lower.

However, something was decidedly wrong; wrong enough that once she reached the end of the first verse, my fingers refused to play on. Lowering my head, I bit my lip while trying to tone back my reaction. I needed to be gentle, after-all she was young and fragile.

"Monsieur?" She asked, leaning forward when the silence had stretched to long. "Is something wrong?"

"I should say so." I replied tensely. "Tell me, Mademoiselle, do you speak even a single word of Russian?"

"No," she confessed. "Was my pronunciation wrong?"

Shaking my head, I muttered out my reply in Russian, " _Yeto maloebuchi faktor_." When she stared at me with no comprehension, I realized she truly didn't know what she was singing. I stood up from the bench and looked down into her smiling young face. "Generally when one is singing 'I will wash the prince's wounds on his bloody body' one would not be expressing such exquisite joy."

Her eyes shot wide with surprise. "Which line is that one?"

"The last one you sang, my dear." I informed her. "Where you were smiling from ear to ear as though you were singing _Ode To Joy_."

She looked mortified. "I … I thought this was a love song."

I nodded, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "It is ... though her love has been captured by the enemy. Thus it begins with 'Ah weep I, bitterly weep I, Tears I pour to my dear one.' How do you expect to sing in a language when you have no ability to comprehend the intention of the words?"

She looked as if about to weep herself. Why hadn't she possessed that emotion earlier? Her performance would have been flawless.

"Mademoiselle, if I may suggest, you should always have a full understanding of both the context and the text itself before performing a piece. Your teacher should have instructed you in that."

Lowering her face into her cupped, hands her voice was muffled, "I found the score and read the notes, they were so beautiful. And I know Russian is such a challenging language to perform."

"There is more to the music than just the notes." An edge was creeping into my voice. I found myself getting increasingly annoyed with her naivete. She forcing me to lecture. "There is also a reason Russian is particularly difficult to perform. Speaking it fluently is in itself a challenge."

"How did you learn it?" She wiped tears from her eyes.

I heaved a sigh, crossing my arms before me. "Experience. I did not wish to be cheated or lied to when I traveled through Russia as a performer. Every land I entered, I made it my business to learn their language as fluently as any who had been raised there. Some tourists may not bother with such a task. I found it invaluable, even now. As a vocalist, it is essential to know what each word means and why it has been placed where it has. The composer made a conscious choice. You should make an effort to understand why that is so."

"You find me lacking … " Her eyes retreated to the floor, trembling.

Drawing her chin up with a single finger, I forced her to meet my gaze. I observed that her body relaxed before my eyes, no effort at all and I had her entranced. "I find you have potential, but you lack experience. You have until tomorrow, there is still a chance to earn a place here if you select something you can feel. Now, take your seat with the others."

I was about to call the next vocalist when Carnegie waved a paper in the air from the aisle of the chamber music hall. Damrosch was seated beside him. Glancing at my pocket watch before snatching it from the top of the piano, I barked, "Five minutes." I immediately took a straight line, dropping off the short stage to the floor. I closed the distance between and leaned against the back of a chair in the row before the one they had sat down in. He handed the newspaper to me and I skimmed the large letters in surprise.

"Wonderful! We have hit the headlines." I smiled and tapped the page with a finger. "Told you, Tchaikovsky was the one to boast."

"You were right." Carnegie leaned forward, his hands draped over the backs of the chairs. "That is bound to pack the house."

"Was there ever any doubt?" Damrosch chuckled.

I shrugged. "The media can be a tricky mistress. Fortunately we are not in the midst of a war or you would be lucky to see this at all. It is indeed grand that the Hall is getting such attention. The carriages should be backed up for miles."

"I can hardly wait." Carnegie was grinning from ear to ear. "Hopefully the paper will be as kind after the first night."

"If we select a grand show, then of course they will." I handed the paper back to him. "With Damrosch's Oratorio and Symphony Societies, Tchaikovsky performing some of his works, and the instrumental soloists chosen, all that remains is selecting the vocal talent. We shall have that determined by tomorrow. New York shall never have experienced such musical splendor under one roof. Just hope that some bigger news does not sweep in and swamp the headlines in the meantime."

The two men rolled their eyes and said in unison, "Politics."

I had only to wave a hand in agreement. Still leaning against the chair, I let my head fall back to gaze at the beautiful gilded ceiling where some of my own carvings framed the chandeliers. And this was only the smallest hall. "Who would want to discuss such vile topics over the beauty of music? The backstabbing political arena never ceases its vicious rounds of mudslinging. Like a never-ending cock fight with fresh combatants beating their wings and crowing on the sidelines."

Damrosch leaned back with confidence. "Let them come and listen to us. Let them come and forget what it is to be underhanded and vile. Let them come and be lost to the music for a while. We shall steal their hearts."

"That is the goal." Luckily that type of theft was entirely legal. Casting my gaze back to Damrosch, I found that kindred spirit. Might I have been like him in my youth had I not been forced to face the challenges the world had seen fit to bestow upon me? Quickly, I figured by his age I must have completed the shah's palace in Persia and already fled those lands in search of some vain purpose before being drawn back to my native France some years later. He was so full of life, at his age I had been locked in a growing cynicism that consumed many years. What an abysmal waste.

The door in the back of the hall swung open and an hysterical young woman came stumbling in, shrieking in Italian. " _La Serenissima! La Serenissima! Oh no! Notizia terribile! Terribile! Semplicemente orribile!_ "

I turned halfway, still leaning against the chair when I felt Carnegie tug on my shirt sleeve. "What is she saying?"

"Something bad happened." I loosely translated.

The diva rushed to the front of the stage, her own flare for drama rising to the moment as the young woman came up the temporary stairs to meet her. " _Chantelli! Terribile notizia, Chantelli è sceso giù per le scale del Municipio!_ " Both women wailed out.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "It seems Chantelli had a little fall."

" _La Serenissima, il suo bastone aveva rotto, si gettò le fasi e gli ruppe il collo! Egli era morto prima che egli ha colpito l'ultimo gradino._ "

"Oh … " I crossed my arms over my chest and blandly continued as the diva's anguished cry rent the air. "It appears it is now the _late_ Chantelli."

Carnegie and Damrosch were wordless with shock as the two women embraced each other, sobbing and wailing. I heaved a sigh, drumming my fingers against my arm.

"Erik—this is terrible. How did it happen?" Damrosch asked.

"He fell down the City Hall steps, apparently that walking stick of his was not just for show. Who knew." I shrugged idly.

Carnegie's eyes flashed a little wider. "Have a little respect for the dead."

"Why?" I scoffed. "Death is after all part of the condition of living. Tell me, Gentlemen, do you cry equally for every child on the street who dies? Or only those men of influence whom you know?" I held up a staying finger. "Take a moment. Consider that before you reply. For if you did morn them all you would never cease to morn."

Damrosch swallowed. "Dear God … you are a believer, aren't you?"

"Oh, there is a God." I shifted my weight a little, reclining onto the back of the seat a bit more as I narrowed my eyes. This was not a subject I enjoyed discussing, God and I had engaged in many disagreements in the past. Not the least of which was the face I had been born with that condemned me to remain locked behind a mask all the days of my life. "I have no doubt in His existence. As to what the afterlife holds, for me it shall not begin with pearly gates and glorious singing angels. I can assure you of that. So you will have to forgive me if I hold little sympathy for the passing of a life."

As if in denial he continued. "I only assumed you to be a man of God from all the sacred pieces you knew by heart." I had to wonder if Damrosch knew that the man who stood beside him was agnostic. Carnegie himself preferred the reason of science to the blind faith of religion.

I emitted a short laugh. "And does the singer who performs the role of Mephistopheles in _Faust_ pertain to the same logic? That's rather kind of you. The naivete of your youth is showing, Damrosch. It is not so much the meaning of the words that attracts my attention, but the heart of the music."

La Serenissima sobbed down the aisle toward us. I merely cast a sidelong glance at her as she choked out, "Chantelli, my poor uncle Chantelli is dead. I cannot perform with such grief!"

"We understand." Carnegie embraced her hand gently. "Go and tend to your family."

I took the list from my pocket and slashed a line through her name before she was even out the door. Damrosch shot a glare at me as he hissed, "Erik! What are you doing?"

Folding the sheet back up, I tucked it into my pocket without remorse. "That made that decision easy. I did not even have to dismiss her myself."

"She just lost her uncle!" He continued, gesturing towards the door she had left from.

Smirking, I retorted, "I do believe I am the only one here who speaks fluent Italian. Did I not inform you of the event?"

The conductor's eyes searched my own for a long moment before he turned in earnest to Carnegie, who also displayed some unease in my evident lack of sympathy. I simply could not act like I cared about that shallow man's death.

I noted a little too much had shown again. This facade was going to be difficult to maintain. Pushing myself from the back of the seat, I turned toward the stage, my voice loud enough to carry through the intimate hall. "I shall have to send a floral arrangement to the funeral. Should be no trouble as I have over a dozen to select from." My eyes caught a guilty glance cast my way as Christine blushed in the back row of the exasperated singers. Annitolli I assumed had translated for them. Mounting the stage without the aid of the stairs, I clapped my hands to get their attention. "Alright, that little melodrama out of the way, back to rehearsal." I sat down at the piano, flinging my pocket watch open on the top so the time was apparent. It was far too easy for me to get lost in the music of late, and I could not risk favoring one vocalist with more time than another simply out of love for their choice. Keeping my voice firm and emotionless, I called out, "Madame Daae, approach the piano."

Emerging from the silent group her graceful steps echoed throughout the hall. Her eyes would not meet mine, glancing away each time I sought to catch them. Damn it, Nadir! What the hell were you two discussing when I overheard you, and what more had you said after I had succumbed to the sleeping draught? I did not wish to be upset with her, but she was keeping secrets from me. Fostered by my tortured sense of suspicion, and despite my best efforts, the childish seed had already been planted. Trying to break the tension, I cleared my throat. "Do not even consider tricking me into singing with you again, my dear. That would give you an unfair advantage over the others."

She swallowed. It earned me a quick glance from her. "And what advantage is that, Monsieur Erik?" Her tone was falsely calm, but I could tell she sensed my simmering temper.

My fingers toyed with the keys on the piano, hovering soundlessly just above them. "Do not be coy. A little inspiration goes a long way, does it not? Your accomplishments should be your own, you are more than capable."

Casting her eyes to the floor, she whispered back. "I will ask no more of you."

That was not the reply I had anticipated. Heaving a sigh, I looked directly at her. "There was a time when you were the toast of the Paris Opera. And yet, what I have heard is a pale comparison to the memory I have of your voice. Now, shall I ask you why this is so?" It was cruel, but for some reason unknown to myself, I could not stop the words coming out in front of the other vocalists. It felt like some strange form of protection. B openly questioning her, I was putting distance between us, casting aside suspicious glances, tearing away the foundation of any rumor that I might be favoring her for other reasons.

"I … " Christine was at a loss for words, her eyes searching the stage. "I had not been performing for much of the time."

"Why would you squander your gift?" Though I did not watch them, my fingers still ran soundlessly over the keys. I could feel the torrent of music that longed to pour forth from them. It longed to launch her into full flight once more just to hear her sing.

"I had little choice, Teacher." She folded her hands before her in obvious embarrassment. An eruption of chatter commenced among the vocalists. I had hoped to quell the rumors, it appeared her admission would now only create more of them. "There were complications to my career."

I replied through gritted teeth, "What could possibly be more important than your musical career?"

"Motherhood."

My finger's slid off the keys as the single word I had not even considered for a moment stole my resolve. Was there no end to my arrogance? I had just succeeded in making a total and complete ass of myself. "Well … " I could not even look up from the keys, not even with force. Quietly I continued, "I suppose that is reason enough to deny the world your great gift for a time."

It was hardly a whisper, just above her breath but I knew she meant me to hear it. "What is your excuse, Erik?"

Glancing up to find her head still bowed but her eyes still locked on me in sorrow, I felt a dagger of ice stab through my heart. How could I have been so damned foolish? Here I sat, scathingly accusing her of wasting her talent when I had not been on a stage myself as a performer for at least three decades. Likely longer if I truly counted the years. It was a dream I had been forced to accept would never come to pass, despite it being the nearest to my heart. That may have been what Nadir had been referring to the other morning, I did not recall much of that long winter month several years ago when I had finally surrendered that dream. What little I had retained was a near abandonment of the will to live. Had it not been for Nadir's stubborn care, I would have starved to death, listlessly lying in my bed. The product of that long convalescence had been my most prized automaton … that gilded little nightingale and his precious rose. It was the music that had drawn me out again. Note by note, I had carved the elaborate harmonies into the brass wheels until at last the entire piece had been freed from my mind for the world to hear. But the world didn't hear it. They wouldn't hear it because the little bird resided in my study, alone, singing only for me. A gift means nothing if it is never given … and I had been a miser.

My eyes fell back to the keys, I forced my tone to remain cool and even. "Show me you have lost none of your skills. I want to hear the voice that once stole the heart of the Paris Opera. What is your choice today?"

Adopting her performance pose, Christine was no longer looking at me as she replied, "The aria from _Lakme, Ou va la jeune Hindoue?_ "

Oh what lovely storytelling. My sarcasm was about to require a stick to be beaten into submission. The piece was lovely, musically. Beautiful shifts in both tempo and range made it challenging as Leo Delibes chose to toss staccato chases up and down the scales in varying leaps that displayed a discipline of immaculate pitch. Of course, the lyrics were something else altogether and I hoped that Christine had chosen the work for the artistic nature and not as a lyrical punishment for me. The lovely Lakme sings of a legend where once upon a night a beautiful Indian girl, outcast daughter of the pariahs, finds a traveler in the forest being ravaged by beasts. Braving their fury, she rushes in and rings an enchanted bell, saving his life. Of course she comes to learn he is none other than the dazzling Vishnu who now owes her his life. In return, he whisks her away to heaven.

Christine laid her hand on the piano right before my eyes. Apparently I had hesitated for longer than I had realized. "You _are_ familiar with it?"

Suppressing the gut reaction to the subject matter, I calmly glanced up at her. "Shall I bring you in with the opening bridge or just where the actual story begins?"

"Then you are familiar, I had wondered if you had heard it, seeing as how you left France the year before its first performance." She withdrew her hand stiffly. Just as I was putting on an act, so was she, covering up something she did not wish to betray.

"Please." I huffed, my fingers already recalling the chords over the keys. " _Lakme_ has been performed on these shores as well. Shall we skip to the story where the true music lies if you wish to persist with this?"

She took a deep silent breath, preparing herself for the aria. I knew it was within her range, the question was if she could move the listener with her voice as I knew she was capable of. Could she evoke the proper emotions? My fingers danced across the keys, releasing the bell-like cascade of notes a scant few measures before her entrance.

Leaving my head bowed to the instrument before me, I closed my eyes and listened as she began the legato phrases that set the moonlit scene. The song was in French, that language made for ease of singing due to the flow of the syllables. Not to mention, it was her native tongue. Though I was doing my best to ignore them, the lyrics spilled forth from her naturally. The timing was perfection … when the staccato segments broke out each one was directly on its mark. Her voice was moving like the finely tuned instrument we had painstakingly honed in the past. I would have sworn I had gone back in time ten years and we were once again in the Opera House with the mirror between us. She had lost nothing. It was all there untarnished, by the time she had been unable to perform. As she reached the last verses of the piece, I found myself listening to the lyrics, jealous of Vishnu for stealing her affections.

My fingers lingered over the last keys. Silence filled the hall. It was some time before my eyes would even open again. Her voice was calm, almost emotionless when she asked, "Was that sufficient, Monsieur Erik?"

I exhaled the breath I had not been aware I had been holding. "Yes." It was all I could say. There was no more.

She turned and abandoned me at the piano, returning to her place at the back of the vocalists. I took out the list of names simply to buy myself a moment for collection. I had dared her to show me she hadn't forgotten what I had taught her. She had risen to the challenge and surpassed it. There was no doubt that she had put me to shame and in that act alone, ultimately earned her place upon the stage.

I put the page back into my pocket before massaging my hands. "Signor Annitolli, step forward." As the Italian meandered to the side of the piano, I fixed my eyes on him. "I know you to be a competent singer with an exquisite baritone."

"Thank you." He smiled.

"That does not mean I'm just going to let you waltz through this." I added sternly. Fine, let them see me do this to each and every one of them, not just Christine. "You will sing what I request. Some years back you sang the role of Malatesta in _Don Pasquale_. I want to hear _Bella siccome un angelo_ , now."

He shifted his nervous glance from my hands, which already rested on the opening chord, up to my eyes locked sternly on him. "Now? I have not sung that role in three years, Signor."

"Yes, I am aware of that. It has been at least fifteen years since I myself have played it. A true performer can draw up past roles with ease. Now, move me—from the entrance." As if to demonstrate, I launched right into the accompaniment with gusto.

To his credit, Annitolli rendered a commendable performance, only faltering on one word within the entire piece. Not bad at all for the amount of time that had passed. I leaned my elbow on the piano. "Precisely what I was expecting from a man of your earned caliber." I turned to the rest of the assembled vocalists, gesturing to him. "I trust all of you see it is more than just regurgitating words and notes. You have to embrace the full intention of the composer's work so much, that years later it still lives inside you to be tapped upon on a moment's notice. When you perform a song, you are embodying the character whose words you are singing. If you have not been taught how to do so, you are not fit to call yourself a true performer."

I noted a few of them shuffled, obviously questioning themselves. Fortunately, nearly all of those were the ones I knew would not make the cut. This would be their life lesson, and I would make it count.

Time ticked by, vocalist after vocalist cast their lot before me. At long last, I dismissed them all for the night. I rested one elbow on the piano as I looked over the list. More or less, my choices were predicted already. It would take an extraordinary change of events to alter my mind tomorrow.

"The billing will be rather short if today is any indication." Carnegie's footsteps carried him across from stage left, behind my shoulder.

I glanced back at him. "I did not realize you and Damrosch intended to sit through most of that."

He sat down on the bench beside me, leaning back against the cover of the keys. "Walter insisted, seeing as how you were gracious enough to listen to his rehearsal the other day. He is in agreement with you. The list the investors created needs to be culled, and I do not envy you."

"Damrosch is the lucky one. His Symphony Society is hand picked and well rehearsed."

"Unlike the first lady who sang for you." Carnegie chuckled. "Walter could not believe what the words actually meant when you translated them for the poor girl. We had both thought by her tone it was a charming love song."

I shrugged. "Well, it is a wonderful piece, just not meant to be sung so … charmingly. I had not lied to her, she does have potential if she pays attention to the important details … such as the lyrics. I am not intent upon slaughtering their dreams. I intend for them to learn a lesson and grow from this experience."

"Such patience." It wasn't sarcasm, he really meant it.

"Really?" I glanced at him. "Good, then my growing frustration had not been evident. That is refreshing to know."

He placed a hand on my arm. "Erik, it is reassuring to see your confidence again. I have not had the opportunity, since the morning we spoke, to tell you what a remarkable change you have made. Once more, I have faith we can achieve this."

"It is all for the music." I reached up with my free hand and took my watch from the piano, replacing it in my vest pocket. "That is all it has ever really been for. There had been a moment where I had lost sight of that, and in doing so, lost myself. I can assure you, Carnegie, that shall not happen again."

"We are growing ever closer to the first night, and I have yet to know what it is you will be performing." He winked at me.

I climbed to my feet, shifting my eyes downward. "And, you shall know when I decide what it shall be. Not a moment before. Now, if I am to even have a moment to consider that very subject, I need to be headed home."

"How do you do it, Erik?" He cast the question after me as I began to leave the stage, his hand pointing to the piano utterly devoid of sheet music. "Sit there and play for them whatever they asked without the music? So many pieces, and each time the patterns of the notes are the same, pristinely correct."

Pausing, I glanced over my shoulder, "Who says I am without the music? Just because you do not see it does not mean it is not there. Good night, Carnegie."

* * *

Twenty feet below me stretched the cobblestone street. I paid it only a passing thought. Less than an hour before our rehearsal had been disrupted, Chantelli had tumbled down a single flight of stone steps in front of the City Hall and died immediately of his injuries. If I should tumble from the railing of my balcony, it would be a full story before I even hit the steps that led up to my front door. I suppose it really wasn't particularly wise to be reclining precariously on the stone railing, my back leaning against the dog-like gargoyle that perched on the corner. Glancing over my right shoulder to the street below, I really didn't care.

Over an hour ago I had held the wooden box in my hand, contemplating the rooftop. However, thoughts of waking up once more in the midst of a spring storm stilled that notion. I had discarded it back on my desk with a will, searching for something else to occupy my restless hands. That was how my Stradivarius had found its way outside with me. Here I sat, my cloak billowing out in the night breeze with my left hand gently gripping the neck of my violin. My right hand held the bow idly against my leg, which hung over the edge. At least I had the sense to check the stonework for any wear before I had settled there.

Lying my head back against the shoulder of the carved dog, my gaze took in the vast star speckled sky. The moon rose slowly over my shoulder, evidenced by the casting of my shadow across the railing to the matching gargoyle on the other side. My thoughts drifted aimlessly. I had no idea what to perform and it was bothering me to no end. I had to come up with something. Tomorrow it would be six days until the opening night.

Swinging the bow lightly against my leg, I heaved a sigh. I had no inspiration, nothing. I was tapped dry. Maybe if I just played whatever my fingers wanted to play? Occasionally that produced some surprising results.

Bringing the violin up to my chin, my eyes wandered towards the table behind the couch as I brought the bow to the strings. I hesitated for a moment. There in my vision sat the little bejeweled bird with his rose. I hadn't written the piece for a string instrument, but that didn't mean a string instrument couldn't play it. Closing my eyes, I ran through the melody and the range of the harmonies. Without drawing the bow, I slid my fingers across the strings, exploring how the notes would fall. Analyzing how each section would build and where the bow stroke would need to be. Yes, it would take a little bit of tinkering, but it could be done.

The draw of the bow sent the entire violin reverberating. The low chords describing the first timid approach of the courting nightingale tremored in the air. I let them hang, allowing the notes to explore the world as I set them free, one by one. Gradually, as I reached the end of the first stanza, I began to add the undercurrent of the first harmony note by note. Without fail, my fingers fell in correct placement on each string. As the story continued its pathway and the desperation began to build, the bow in my hand began to fly across the strings, layering multiple harmonies at a time one atop another. In the automaton, all it had required was another wheel engaging a new set of tines. The sheer number of notes and the spread across the strings of a single violin was rapidly becoming rather complex. But I found the challenge only just within my upper limits. My long fingers and swift dexterity were able to slip in and out of the cascades with marked effort.

I heard her approaching before she stepped through the open door to the balcony. Framed by the gas lights, she was cast mostly in shadow before the blue hue of the moonlight caught her. We had not spoken outside of the rehearsal earlier, as I had been actively avoiding her. When I glanced her way, I could see she had not come simply because she had been drawn to the music. There was another reason she hesitantly stepped out onto the balcony to join me.

Drawing the bow slowly across the strings, I let the music die in the night air before leaning the violin against my chest.

"I made sure not to startle you this time." She was twisting the ring on her finger nervously.

"I heard you." I replied distractedly glancing to my right over the edge. "It is a good thing too, rather a long way down if I had been startled."

She blushed. "I wish you wouldn't make light of such subjects."

I laid my head against the upturned end of my violin and quipped dryly, "Can you not take the gravity of it?"

"Erik, please." She begged. "It's not funny. I really wish you would get off the railing, it makes me nervous."

I shrugged, comfortable in the knowledge I was perfectly balanced. The chance of the solidly carved gargoyle shifting and falling behind me was almost inconceivable. It weighed well over eight times what I did. With the amount of pulleys it had required to heave into place, there wasn't much that was going to shift him from his stony watch.

Realizing she would not stir me until I so wished to relinquish my perch, she took a deep breath. "Erik, I came to apologize for hurting you earlier. At the rehearsal, I hadn't meant to upset you."

So, that was why she had come. Still resting my head against the instrument, I sighed. "Oh that. It is not exactly as though I had not been callous prior to your remark. Do not give it another thought, Christine."

"I still shouldn't have said it, you'd been through so much. After how you collapsed the other day—"

I cut her off sharply. "That is no excuse for my public accusation." My previous condition was not a topic I wished to discuss. Bad enough she had actually seen me laid out on the floor. I flicked the bow up in a dismissive gesture. "If I stopped to think about it for even a moment I would have realized your inability to perform had a very obvious reason. At least you had one, where I do not. Besides, you have not lost any of your ability over the years. So truly, you proved me justly wrong. I suppose I should be proud."

A ghost of a smile haunted her lips briefly. "But … you're not."

I leaned my head back against the shoulder of the stone carving, wishing I could summon a more convincing tone for her sake. "I truly am proud of you, Christine. There is no way I could deny you a place on that stage for your performance today. I laid the challenge before you out of childish spite, and you rose to it and excelled my expectations. It is not in _you_ where my disappointment lies."

Bewildered, she took a step towards me. "The other singers?"

"Well, there is that." I swung the bow idly, before giving voice to my confession. "I am really disappointed with myself."

"Why? You played with such skill today, as always."

I shut my eyes and tried not to bitterly laugh. "You called that skill? Please Christine, I was hardly able to concentrate. I wanted so much to find every one of their teachers and lash them with piano wire." I caught the violent verbal threat too late. That was not going to help my image in their eyes. "Of course," I began with a sheepish smile. "That was only a mild undercurrent to the day. I have no intention of wasting the time in tracking them all down. Besides, once more it is not what troubles me the most."

She came all the way to the railing, leaning her arm against it to study me curiously.

"Carnegie and Damrosch have commanded I must perform on the opening night."

"That's wonderful news." A broad smile blossomed on her face.

"Really." I sighed dismally, looking back out into the empty street. "If I knew what the devil to perform. But I am at a complete loss."

"I'm sure you will think of something." She cocked her head. "What about that piece you were just playing? That was lovely, what is it from?"

I shifted my gaze back towards the room, she may as well know. Taking a deep breath I pointed with the bow. "Go fetch that little bird on the table by Charles." Without hesitation, she brought the automaton out onto the balcony and placed it on the wide railing by my foot where I had indicated.

"Why out here?" She asked softly.

"I do not wish to wake Charles. He likes this one a lot. Now, all you have to do is lay a finger under his beak." I watched as she reached forward and tripped the mechanism, sending the bird into his masterful ballad. Her eyes lit up with wonder as the trembling rose shifted from white to the deeply blushed red. As the bird fell silent, a small tear traveled unheeded down her cheek.

"Oh Erik! It's positively spellbinding! The story you used to tell me by the fireplace." She turned her gaze to me. "The forbidden red rose. This is amazing, and the music so perfect for the tale. I could just feel his trills loosening the petals. Masterful … could that not be it?"

"Impossible." I shook my head, looking away. "It is a duet."

The silence spread between us before she quietly requested, "Would you teach it to me? You must have the lyrics somewhere if it is a duet."

She couldn't possibly be serious, so I gave a short laugh. "I could if I knew where someone had managed to put the libretto when she cleaned my study."

"We can find it, I put all the musical scores together." She was already starting to go back inside. "What's it called?"

She was serious? I stiffened. "Christine … you have your own piece to perform."

"This one is far better than what I had selected." She paused in the door frame. "Now, what is the name of it?"

Sliding off the railing, I secured the violin and the bow together in my left hand. "You would really relinquish a solo limelight performance to sing a duet on stage … with me?"

She smiled softly. "Of course I would. The name?"

I could hardly believe what I had heard. Was this real? Had I not placed the opium pipe on my desk but smoked it instead. If so, this could be the dream. My voice whispered out, "It is _Forbidden_."

Smirking she shook her head. "Erik, I'm serious what is the name?"

"That is the name." I numbly retorted, taking the automaton with me.

We crossed the room to the ceiling high shelf she had organized my scores on. Thumbing through the first few, I scratched my neck. "How did you organize these?"

She was on a lower shelf, thumbing through them when she replied, "By the type of opera it was from. Comedies are grouped together, as well as the tragedies."

"Helpful." I sighed. "Perhaps composer would have been a little more logical."

She shot me a quick glance. "I knew how you are often ruled by emotion, so I assumed this would be the best system. Maybe you should have used a custom binding on your works."

I snorted. "These are all custom bound by me. Where did you put my compositions? Surely you should recall which shelf."

"All over, actually."

I rolled my eyes. "I never wrote a comedy."

Shelf after shelf I thumbed, through finding her interpretation of some of my works a little amusing. Much of what she considered romantic, I would have placed in the tragedy shelf. Sitting on the floor, I was bent over double, pulling out each leather bound composition long enough to learn it wasn't the right one before shoving it back in place. I had known I had a lot of musical scores and this wasn't even all of them. At last Christine opened one in her lap and smiled. "This is it … yes … here is that cascade I recognize!"

Leaning over, I noted my elegant scrolling across the page, the musical bars packed with notes originally intended to be played on the piano. Beside me lay the Stradivarius. There was no reason it couldn't be done, after all I only just tried it. I merely needed to practice the full spread of my left hand to truly do the piece justice.

Her hand came up and rested over her heart. "Erik, this is absolutely beautiful. The words are just as powerful as the intricate harmonies."

"You do not have to perform it if you do not want to." My hands gently took up the violin, I looked away from her. The lyrics were rather evoking, revealing. Written in the throws of raw emotion that had been a bitter reflection of my self exiled reality.

"I'm not changing my mind." She held up the music. "This is the piece that I wish for my American debut. I am determined to master this before the opening night. And with you, I know I can."

Why was she doing this? I found deep inside of myself a tremendous desire to seize this moment and show the world a whole new range of emotion. I wanted to teach them the pang of longing, the sacrifice of night after night striving for a seemingly unattainable goal. And against all odds the sensation of dragging the impossible into a reality. And there, sitting beside me with her eyes fixed on the score and softly humming her new part … it began to dawn on me. That very rose was blooming and I hadn't a clue what note I had sung to produce the effect.

"Christine," I softly coaxed her out of the libretto. "Perhaps we should work on this elsewhere." I glanced at Charles. After all it was late evening. "We should probably head to the music room on the main floor. We can bother Nadir instead. It is not my fault he had the misfortune to choose to locate his room beside it."

She chuckled as she climbed to her feet. "Alright, my Angel of Music. Lead on to your sanctuary."

I was halfway to my feet when her innocent joke caused me to freeze, shutting my eyes tightly against the pang of regret.

"Erik." She exhaled, apologizing immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it mockingly."

I forced a smile, knowing there was a hint of sadness lingering there that I could not banish. "I know you did not, my dear. Just please try not to remind me about that. Especially right now."

Drifting for the door, she looked ashamed of herself. "I find I'm not always certain what to say to you these days. So much of the past is … "

I trailed behind her, leaving a respectable space between us. " … tarnished by regrets." I finished for her. "I know. That is always the burden with moving on. Somehow the past always catches up and haunts you, regardless of how craftily one tries to bury it."

As my words drifted down over her she stopped with a barely disguised shudder. She gazed searchingly over her shoulder back up into my eyes. "It's been hard for you, hasn't it. Leaving it all behind in France and starting over again."

"Moving on is a phase that is all too familiar to me, Christine." I found it hard to meet her eyes, studying the railing instead. "Each time I was forced to shift bore its own unique challenges. This last time was by far the most difficult."

"Because you had to leave your home?" Her soft voice tugged at my heart, I was beginning to wonder if I could really perform the piece after all, even without the words.

"No." I stopped on the step, looking down and feeling that familiar deep pang in my chest. The words came out in a tense whisper, unable to be withheld any longer. "Because I had been painfully close to possessing my heart's deepest desire."

Only the sound of our slow breathing echoed for far too long on the grand stairs of the entry hall. We were separated by a space of only two stair widths, but it may as well have still been the whole of the Atlantic ocean. I would never again have the chance ten years ago had presented where my selfish manipulations had slaughtered any real hope I ever had of earning true love. Here she was, simply being kind to me; a kindness I ill deserved. My mind would simply not allow me to examine her actions in any more revealing a light. Deep within me, a desperate fear of being consumed by the flames warned me of the risk of drawing things out too close to the candlelight. My heart longed to burn with the passion of a lover, but my soul retreated, wary of the unbridled power of those flames. The night Nadir had learned the news of her impending arrival, I had somehow known how it must be. I had confided to him my deepest fear of the oncoming storm bearing down on my tattered soul. Even still, I found my will wavering, overwhelmed by the temptation to reach out to her. The fear of being consumed by fire held me back.

"Come," I broke the silence. "The music room is down the hall." Dropping down the stairs ahead of her, I lead the way. Damn it, once more I was running away, trying not to get hurt. But which would be worse, pushing away now or deluding myself into believing she really did … No! I couldn't even think that.

I pushed open the door to the large room with the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves stuffed with a variety of musical scores. In the center of the room, my second Steinway grand piano resided, the lid closed to keep the dust from the wires. Various instruments were scattered around, including a full sized Irish harp. Taking a candle from just inside the room, I lit the wick from the gas sconce on the hall. Shielding the flame I proceeded to light and adjust the sconces inside the room as well as a few candles on the candelabra by the piano.

"No pipe organ?" Christine's eyes were flying about the room. A soft smile grew on her features as she ran her fingers over the leather bound scores.

"No pipe organ." My fingers adjusted the flow of a sconce, the room now had a warm glow. "Though it has crossed my mind to install one. Thus far I have resisted the urge as a kindness to Nadir seeing as how his room is located, it would not be a very restful night when I choose to burn the midnight oil."

"Will he be alright with us rehearsing here?" She glanced towards the door, Nadir's room was directly across the hallway.

I shrugged, taking up the violin and quickly running a scale to be sure it was still tuned from the temperature change of coming inside out of the night air. Only a slight adjustment was required. "He has gotten accustomed to me working in here. And it is only the violin this time. Soft enough not to carry too much through the wall … until the end of the piece, that is. But I am not sure if we will make it that far this evening. In its entirety with the lyrics, it is quite a lengthy piece."

Holding up the libretto, she opened it to the first page. "It seems it starts with you."

Drifting the bow across the strings, I shook my head. "My part is well known to me. Let us proceed with you learning yours. Can you follow from the violin or would you prefer the piano?"

She laughed while turning the pages. "Erik dear, my father was a violinist, or had you forgotten? Of course I can follow you. Play on, wherever you may go."

"I had not forgotten." I set my fingers on the strings with a nod. "He was an astonishing musician, a man to be admired. It was a shame when he had been taken from this world too soon."

Looking up from the sheet music, she searched my face. "Erik, did you know my father?"

"Personally?" I let the violin come back down by my side. "No, we had never met face to face. But I had certainly heard him perform in the Paris Opera orchestra. There was a reason he had been reigning first chair for so many years."

She cocked her head, only slightly accusingly. "And you had no influence over that one?"

"His own talents secured his position, my dear. Sufficiently so that Poligny saw it without any aid from the Opera Ghost if that is what you are asking." I replied briskly, "Now, I thought we were not going to discuss those years."

"I'm sorry, I just … well, I still miss my father whenever I hear a violin." She sighed. "When you play it sounds so much like him."

Guiltily, I glanced at the violin in my hand. I wouldn't hurt her. "Christine … if you cannot do this I understand. It is not worth tormenting yourself with distant memories."

Gracefully she turned back to me, a sad smile on her face. "It's a gift, Erik. It is why I am so drawn to you when you play. I remember how safe I felt at Papa's feet, when he used to play only for me. I remember the joy of those days when I was but an innocent child and need be nothing more. He really isn't gone, Erik. I still am quite convinced his spirit sent you to guide me."

It was as though someone shoved a dagger into my throat, the effect would have induced the same amount of shock. "Christine … " I managed to choke out. "We really should not be talking about this … "

She stepped towards me, closing the distance. I hadn't been singing to her, nor playing anything. No manipulative stares or gestures, nothing conscious to have entranced her. Yet, her glazed eyes bore into mine yearningly.

What had I done?

I took one step back, then another, trying in vain to maintain some distance.

"Christine … " I tried to snap her out of it. "Christine! Wake up!"

She still advanced, a wistful smile on her face. "But the dream isn't over. I never want it to be over."

As a last resort, I lifted the bow and let her walk into it. The end made a small dent in the fabric of her brocade dress. She could come no closer to touching me, only the thin bow made contact. Inside my chest my heart was racing, torn between desperate resistance and the madness of giving in to the impossible dream.

"You have to wake up." A little more pressure on the bow and I saw her blink, the glaze fading from her expression as she looked down to find what blocked her progression. I shook my head when she looked back up at me, "No, Christine. That dream is over. The curtain has been drawn, and the reality must be tended. Please … " I withdrew the bow and turned away from her, my heart still anxiously pounding against my ribs. That had been too close. "Let us just work on the piece as teacher to student. No more, no less."

I heard her footsteps carry her across the room slowly. In their disrupted cadence she was collecting herself.

What was that? What had just happened?

She sat down on the piano bench and silently read over the music. I waited for her breathing to return to normal before I even dared to move.

"Are you ready?" Confidence failed to enter my quiet voice.

Her eyes remained on the score, her voice soft and shamed. "I am, teacher. Give me a measure before my entrance."

The bow drew out the first series of trills to bring her in. We were but two lost souls on a journey we both refused to acknowledge we had begun.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter 12**_

The pen cut across the page, letter by letter scribed in red ink I had brought especially for the occasion. The vocalists lingered on the stage in anticipation as I purposefully took my time. Nothing had changed from the day before. I had already made my decision. Experience and a fine tuned ear had told me ages ago who would be of the correct caliber to stand upon this stage and who would not. This second day had been only a courtesy. Scribing the last letter on the page, I stood up from the piano and turned to Carnegie and Damrosch. Both men had been seated in the middle of the recital hall silently awaiting my final call.

"Gentlemen, the list as promised." I held it out as they mounted the steps. Carnegie took the page from me and ran his eyes down the short list. Damrosch nodded in consent as he read over his shoulder.

"May we?" He requested.

"If you wish." I reclaimed my seat at the piano. My task was complete and I preferred to be home working on perfecting my own piece. There were a few of the measures that still hung up instead of flowing freely. I had yet to try singing while simultaneously playing my part. We had strictly worked on Christine's part last night.

Carnegie cleared his throat. "We have Annitolli with _Eterna la memoria_ , Kline performing _Meiner Liebsten schöne Wangen_ , La Mareesa performing _Vaghe perle_ , and Lind with _Elles se cachaient_... _Il ne revient pas_ ."

Of course hearts were broken, little Duchene's eyes quivered just about to tear up. It was better this way. She wasn't ready for this and those tears were the proof. She took it better than Potter. Miss Potter threw a snide look at Christine and spat out, "Look who else didn't make the list. Madame Daae must have been lacking for her teacher."

Carnegie shook his head. "I wasn't finished. That was the soloists. Madame Daae has elected to sing a duet with Erik, entitled … this is interesting, _Forbidden_."

"That is correct." I remarked tersely. "Any who call her lacking will answer directly to me."

Apparently I had not been heard over the torrent of remarks that poured forth.

"Now we know how it works."

"A duet? With _him_?"

"Of course she got in, why wouldn't she?"

"From the first rehearsal it was obvious."

"SILENCE!" I doubted any knew the human voice alone could produce such a commanding sound. All save Christine who had heard me on previous occasions. She stood quietly, in the back trying to avoid the sudden barrage of unwanted attention.

All eyes turned to me in response to that one word. "I will have none of this ridiculous babble that is not fit for a conservatoire! Her choice to sing with me was her own, and only _after_ she had earned her place as a soloist on this stage! It had even been her idea. This slander stops immediately and if I hear just one word more, whomever is speaking will never sing on this coast again. Is that understood?"

"He doesn't have those kind of connections." The whisper carried.

"Really, Miss Potter?" I rapped my fingers upon the piano. "You are about to be the first to learn how much of the management I am in touch with." It wouldn't take more than a whisper from me to shut every stage door to a performer. A few words and a career could be butchered permanently.

Her eyes watched me warily before dropping away, backing down from the challenge.

"Everyone is dismissed. We are done for the day." As always, they lingered in the background, idly chatting.

"What type of piece is it?" Damrosch tried to segue back to the topic.

I glanced over at him. "You both asked for an original composition; well, that is what it is."

"Tempo—fast or slow?" He asked, obviously curious as to what they were going to hear.

"Both." I replied tersely. "And you are not going to hear it before opening night regardless of begging."

He shook his head, grinning as I withheld any real information. "Where shall we place it in the program?"

I shrugged. "Wherever the devil you want, I could care less. It will contrast everything already selected so it really does not make a difference."

Both men locked eyes with each other before clearly giving up. "Alright, since it's apparently so different, we'll put yours at the end of the first night." Damrosch glanced at the list. "Makes it easy, Carnegie. We start with the societies as they require the most set up. Then we can have an instrumental solo and a vocal solo each night."

I leaned back against the piano and rattled off. "Since you have tossed us on the first night, we shall have Lind on the second, then Kline for the third, proceed with La Mareesa at the fourth, Annitolli concludes the final concert."

"Carnegie? Is that agreeable?" He turned, raising an eyebrow.

Carnegie burst into laughter. "Why are you two asking me? You're the experts. I just write the checks."

I smirked and added, barely under my breath, "Not all of them."

He winced. "I have been meaning to ask … "

"I know, that is why I have it here." I reached into my coat and pulled out the latest copy of the hall's ledger records for him. "When are you going to get a private accountant for this project?"

Damrosch threw his head back laughing. "He does—you!"

I scowled. "I already keep my own books, you are lucky I was willing to do his."

"Thank you, Erik. I promise, when I find someone who can keep them as good as you have, the duty will pass on."

"Translation," I replied with a wry laugh, "that is never going to happen." I got to my feet. "If you will excuse me, Gentlemen, I have a piece to practice for opening night."

Halfway down the stairs, I heard my name again. "What is it now?" I turned and climbed back up the steps to see Duchene, her eyes full of tears. Christine was beside her.

"No … no you shouldn't have, Madame Daae." The girl sobbed, turning away as I approached them. Christine glanced up at me, her eyes offering a silent plea.

"Mademoiselle Duchene, what is the matter?" I tried to be gentle, but suspected the tone a little rough from her stiff reaction.

"I am sorry … you are right, I am not ready for this stage." She sniffed back her tears.

Heaving a sigh, I tried to find the best way to save this timid little creature. Out of the corner of my eyes, I noted Carnegie and Damrosch still lingering on stage, watching. Wonderful, an audience. "Do you know why?"

She silently shook her head.

"You need a backbone, my dear." Before I had a moment to continue she looked up at me as though I had crushed her. "I am not being insensitive. The stage is a harsh place with cruel critics who will rend a performer apart for nothing more than making their own egos rise. If a spirit is unprepared for that, there is no way they can take the suffocating heat that is the very nature of the limelight."

Christine placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Erik is right, I doubt there are many who have a greater understanding of that than he does."

I eyed her. "I will take that as a compliment, Madame Daae."

She forced a laugh, reminding me we were trying to help the poor girl before us. "I meant from all you have seen over the years. How many times has some jealous voice cried out some slight after a grand performance?"

"Or worse." I offered. "Something actually goes wrong and you have to face that ill-publicity. No matter how great a performer is, accidents happen."

Duchene rubbed a tear from her eye. "Not you Madame Daae, you're perfect."

I smiled, eyeing my old student. "Do not let her lie to you."

"Erik!" Christine played along. "Don't you tell how scared I was on my first night. How I didn't want to go on."

I crossed my arms over my chest and added. "Oh the horror. And who made you get out there and show the world how it was done. Who insisted you were ready for that gala performance. Who had every confidence you could rule that stage. The first night was fantastic … however there were some after that … "

"Don't!" She laughed. "Not the night I mixed up the verses and sang to the wrong lover."

Duchene was beginning to smile a little. "What did you do?"

"She made a comedy out of a tragedy." I waved a hand. "Really, it was almost better that way."

Poor Christine was bright red. "I was so embarrassed. Between the acts I had no idea what to do. It was Erik who told me how to fix it by adding a moment where I admitted that I played him the fool. And the audience thankfully believed it. Thank heavens you were there or I would have never left my dressing room."

"Simply tragic." I rolled my eyes as Christine turned to Duchene.

"You see, Mademoiselle, there is a lot that can go wrong." She sighed. "I don't even recall which opera that was now, just that I had made a big mistake. At the time, I was petrified, thinking I could never live through it. Now, it is but an amusing story to tell. We all have them. Even Erik does."

I threw her a look. "Not that I tell just anyone about those little mishaps."

"If we don't learn how to overcome them without tears, we'd never make it through the rigors of the stage." Christine was wiping the young girl's eyes. "No one is perfect. But a good teacher will help you learn how to do this and stay true to yourself. Right Erik?"

"More or less," I added. "It is something you should have already been taught. Who is your instructor? I could have a word or two with them.

Duchene looked down at her feet pensively. "I don't have one anymore."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Christine's gesture towards the girl. I shook my head stiffly in refusal. Christine tightened her lips at my gesture. "Please." She mouthed soundlessly.

Again, I shook my head, firmer this time. I couldn't do it. I couldn't take on another student. But it didn't mean I couldn't help the girl in another way. Placing a hand beneath her chin, I made her look up at me. "I meant what I said, the potential is there. I know of a few vocal instructors in search of prospective students. A simple letter from me should be sufficient to gain their attention. But you have to promise me you will work very hard for them."

Duchene beamed up at me. "Thank you, Monsieur Erik. It means the world to me."

"I will send word as soon as I receive the replies." She took my hand and shook it vigorously before vanishing up the aisle. "You were about that timid." I remarked to Christine.

Her jaw dropped. "I was not!"

I smiled slyly. "Really? I seem to remember you crying your eyes out about sounding 'akin to a limping sparrow'."

"La Carlotta!" Christine growled out, her hands grabbing handfuls of her skirt.

"Now, now," I chided. "Was not there just a lecture about being thick-skinned?"

She scowled at me before a smile spread across her face. Once more looking graceful, she lifted her chin proudly. "At least I didn't sound like a demented toad on stage."

There was no suppressing the laughter that welled up from that memory. "The look on her face! That truly was sublime." I cleared my throat. "My dear, we really should be rehearsing the piece. Shall we?"

With a short nod, she started for the stairs. As we passed Carnegie and Damrosch, my strides caught up to meet her. "I never did keep up with that diva's career."

Christine shrugged. "She went back to Italy after the fire. Apparently no longer the toast of the city, little word traveled of her."

"Not surprising." I remarked as we passed down the aisle. "With her lack of talent there was little to make word about in the first place."

In the short blocks to my house, we shared a comfortable silence, enjoying the evening air. In the entryway, she glanced up the stairs. "I should go and check on Charles before we begin."

"I will be waiting in the music room." I watched her climb the stairs before I drifted into the room. Taking up my violin, I checked it quickly to be sure it was still properly tuned. New strings could be temperamental, these seemed to be no exception to that rule. Once the instrument was ready, I picked up the score, my eyes roving over measure after measure. I had to lock both parts in my mind at the same time. The accompaniment on the string instrument and my vocal part. I had not rendered the task easy for myself.

The sound of footsteps caught my attention. They were too heavy to be hers. Flinging the sheet music down on the table, I turned in time to come face to face with Nadir. His olive toned skin was red hued with rage, his eyes narrow and forceful as he slapped a paper into my hand. "What is this?"

"A newspaper." I remarked sarcastically. Apparently he did not find my reply in the least bit amusing.

"Erik, explain this! Now!" Grabbing the paper, his finger pointed to the leading headline.

Lifting the page, I skimmed the words at first with little interest. "Yes, so it seems that a certain politician's bad habits have ended his days in a rather amusing position. What precisely do _I_ have to explain?"

"Ruescher!" Nadir was grinding his teeth. "Ruescher, Erik! He lies dead having been strangled!"

Confronted like this, my veneer of disinterested calm was difficult to maintain; but I forced it anyway. Looking back at the paper, I nodded. "Yes, and by a delightful set of woman's silk stockings." I fixed him with a cold glare. "Since when do I have access to those?"

"How could you!" His hands convulsed with rage. "You promised me!"

My own hand began to grip into a fist at the accusation. "The man likely got what he deserved, Nadir! My first guess would be the brothel women he spread his raging syphilis to wrought their revenge on him. Why do you instantly assume it was me?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not the only one. Chantelli and his fall down the stairs!"

The cold veneer peeled away as I felt my entire body tense. "I was at a rehearsal when that happened! And for all the stunts I have pulled in the past, I have never been capable of murder half way across a city. As far as Ruescher goes, he died last night in the early morning hours according to the published report. I was here, in this very room with Christine, rehearsing our piece. And I _know_ you heard us because I recall your annoyed request for us to stop."

It gave him pause, for a moment, not enough to silence his suspicion. He took a step towards me. "You could have ordered it done! Any number of those cut-throats who supply your information would have been itching for a chance to make a name for themselves."

"Good heavens, Daroga! You are seeing a ghost who ages ago ceased to exist!" I turned away from him, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him advance. He was going to try and pin me to the wall. I spun back, rounding on him suddenly. He was caught by surprise and overcompensated with a rough rotation. Slamming a hand flat on his back, I forced him against the bookcase. Not enough to hurt, but enough to show him I was no longer the weakling whose strength had been stolen by overindulgence. I released the old fire to burn into my eyes as I leaned in on him. "I would not try that again if I were you. I thought you knew better, Nadir! I thought we had a trust!"

"Raoul de Chagny!" He grunted.

"What about that cur?" I snarled, my temper was tinder to that name.

"He was found early this evening on a street corner severely roughed up." His eyes shifted, locking with mine as they searched for an answer he swore he already knew. "I know it was you!"

I snorted. "So, apparently I am not the only one with informants. And not even mine had alerted me to that incident! The man is racking up debts around this town recklessly. I am sure someone grew weary of waiting for their payment. What does _any_ of this have to do with me?" I had not released him, if anything I was putting more pressure on his back.

"Three men who have slighted you. Two dead, the other injured within two days … Erik, of course you are suspect." Nadir tried to free himself, but I only leaned harder against the casing, feeling him forced to exhale.

"You are a fool, Daroga!" I hissed, "These last days I have been entirely within sight!"

He shifted once more, trying for a purchase I would not let him find. "A trick you have performed before!"

I felt it about to happen. One more remark from him, and I knew I would do it! With a violent growl, I pushed him aside and stormed for the door. Slamming it shut, I turned the lock on his outraged cries. It wouldn't stop him for long, but it would be sufficient for me to get away before I regretted my actions. Snatching my cloak from the hook, I took flight to the stable around the back of my mansion.

Jacques saw me coming. One glance, and the stable master backed into the stall he had been coming from. Passing by the tack, I gripped the hackamore I always used when riding. I knew I would be followed, but I had several advantages. Rounding the corner of the stall, I caught his attention. Faust flung his proud head up from his trough. The black Arabian stallion pawed at the floor, tossing his mane in anticipation. Between his eyes twisted a white blaze resembling the tendrils of smoke from a flame. Like most Arabian horses he was high-spirited with a mean streak I admired. I had procured him as payment from a trade deal. His previous owner had no idea what he possessed and his attempts to break the animal's spirit had only been met with violent resistance. The evidence was revealed the first time I had tried to ride Faust, he had thrown and bit me. Time had built a mutual respect, we both were stubborn and temperamental. Tonight as he turned and met my eyes I saw in his that he would carry me. He understood what was required of his fleet hooves this night.

Faust turned in his stall, lightly stepping before dropping his head for the only tack I needed. I slid the bridle on him and fastened it behind his swiveling ears. Nadir would need a saddle, those took time to arrange. I mounted Faust in a single swing, feeling the raw power of the graceful horse beneath me unhindered by a saddle. With the Gypsies, I had learned to ride bareback. There was something to be said for feeling every twitch of the horse's muscles beneath you. It meant you knew where the animal was taking you. You knew the precise moment they were no longer in tune with you. Gripping the rein attached to the bridle, I gave it a quick flick and released the beast beneath me.

Rearing up, Faust tore out of the stable as I gave him his head. Only on occasion did I give him a gentle direction as he carried me out into the night, my cloak flying out behind me. Moved by the steady canter of his hooves, I barely gave any heed to where he was taking us. North, I knew, north into the rural stretches of the island. Through and beyond Central Park, up into the fields and pastures. The moonlight cast our fused shadow over the hillsides. Beneath me, Faust was breathing deeply with a lust for life. The thunder of his steps echoed in my ears as he left any resemblance of a street behind.

There was simply no catching up with my horse when I let him run. I never understood why some men preferred to ride a broke horse. Nothing compared to the thrill of riding a willful creature. Through the anger of the betrayal, I felt the slight balm offered by the rhythmic cadence. Letting myself sink into the tempo, I began to feel my stiff body forced to relax. Riding bareback required motion, a stiff body did not compensate well.

We came to a darkened pond in the middle of nowhere. I gently pulled back on the reins and Faust reluctantly slowed, tucking his head with an arched neck as he kicked his feet beneath him in protest. "Sorry, Faust." I slid off him, running a hand down his soft muzzle. "If we keep going this hard he will never catch up."

Faust's hot breath washed over my hand. He pushed into me, clearly wanting to run further.

"This is something I have to do." I said apologetically.

He lifted his head and nickered before drifting over to the pond for a deep drink.

I lay down on the grassy hillside, staring up at the stars winking in the sky. They brought me no delight this evening as I waited over a half hour before even beginning to hear the distant sound of hooves approaching. There was no need to look up. Faust's undignified expression as he raised his head from grazing told me that Nadir's gelding was about to crest the hill. Typical stallion that Faust was, he showed disdain to other horses, especially geldings. That could only be MehrzAd's broken cadence. The timing was actually sooner than I had expected. Jacques must have known Nadir would need his horse and started to saddle MehrzAd right after I had left. It was the only way he could have made such good timing. However, I was in no mood to congratulate him on his punctuality.

"You are late." I snapped as he breathlessly slipped off his horse. I heard him stomping across the hill towards me as I remained on my back.

"I wasn't done with you!" He gasped as though he, not the horse, had run the incredible distance.

I turned my head to look up at him. "Apparently you refused to take the hint that I was finished with you!"

He threw his hands in the air in pure frustration. "Have you even stopped for a moment to consider how this makes you look? Erik, these games are pure lunacy."

"These games, as you call them, are quite beneath me!"

Nadir persisted. "They have to stop."

"Nothing ever began, Daroga!" I hefted myself up, my left hand finding a good sized flat stone in the grass. I took it with me. "You know nothing of trust!" With a harsh flick of my wrist, I let the stone fly over the dark waters, its path skimming across to the other shore.

"Look at yourself!" He snapped out. "Lashing out like that, strange behaviors, who wouldn't suspect that you're up to something."

Turning to him, I glared long while I collected my words. "Consider this, dear friend. My home, my refuge, now holds a woman whose very presence is torture to my soul. What does that render my house? If anything, no longer the place of comforting solitude it once was. I have not slept in my own bed for many a night. What would you have me do? Force Christine to sleep on the bow window's bench? What a hospitable host that would make me! You expect me to be completely serene about all this? Because I will be honest with you, I considered my handling of it superb … til you pushed me to this point."

He exhaled with frustration. "I concur that things have been … awkward. But at the same time, too much is lining up like the past to be ignored. History tends to repeat itself, Erik. And I am no fool in seeing your signature."

"Then it should seem that fate has forged it for me." I snorted. "For this time I have been entirely too busy to be plotting the grand scheme that you are seeing."

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly. "Erik, you have to admit it looks suspicious. What are the chances of those two men dying so shortly after insulting you. And Raoul being found beaten not long after you had located him?"

"Shall I dispel your myth with one little detail you have neglected?" I spread out my hands. "Had the old me truly been involved with Raoul's fate, he would have been sufficiently deceased rather than left breathing. I would still like to see him snuffed out from this world. However that would do irreparable damage to Christine. I cannot do that to her. I will not do that to her."

He shook his head. "And what of the other two?"

I rolled my eyes. "One fell down the stairs when his cane broke. I repeat, I was in a rehearsal when it happened. The other was a horridly filthy politician whose disease was close to taking him to an early grave. Likely, it actually did anyway, when the brothel women whom he spread it too learned his dirty secret."

"The man was strangled." Nadir insisted.

"Strangled by silk stockings!" I pointed out once more, I was growing weary of repeating old details. "I have used rope and the catgut lasso, but never a woman's lingerie. In all seriousness, Daroga! The man had it coming, he had more then enough enemies out there for me to even bother lift a finger towards him. He was fortunate his own wife did not off him in his sleep for cheating on her!"

He took a pensive step towards me, narrowing his eyes. "You don't even feel a hint of compassion for their passing on, do you."

Offering an idle shrug I remarked, "And why should I? The men were both sleazy politicians whose sole ambitions lie in filling their pocket books beyond the brink at any cost to society. If you ask me, fate has delivered a blessing to society by snuffing them both out."

Nadir tossed a hand in the air. "That is precisely the demeanor that has drawn you so much attention!" He suddenly turned, realizing that MehrzAd was wandering off. "Hey! MehrzAd, get back here!" The Morgan gelding eyed his master disdainfully and continued to step away from him, increasing his high stepped nervous gate. Each time Nadir took a step toward the horse, the distance from the increased pressure grew greater.

I shook my head. Were it not for the previous tension, I should have been laughing at how sad this whole situation was. At this rate MehrzAd would leave the field before Nadir cleared half of it. "You will never get him back like that."

Nadir snapped over his shoulder. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

Taking a few strides towards him I replied blandly, "You are getting it anyway. You are insulting him. It is no wonder he shies from you." I placed a hand on the annoyed Persian's shoulder and pushed him aside. "Stay here and watch … I need to teach you something you have clearly forgotten."

"What?"

"Trust." Leaving Nadir's side, I calmly approached the skittish Morgan, my hands at my side as I gazed off to his side. "Easy, MehrzAd. Easy boy." My voice was quiet and I saw his ears swivel to catch the sound. My subtle motions intrigued him. His nostrils flared out to examine my scent as I extended a hand towards him, firmly but slowly. "Good." A soft stroke of his muzzle, followed by another and soon he was leaning into the palm of my hand. Drawing the small blade I always carried I gently gripped the halter he wore and cut the straps that held the bit in place. Giving it a quick toss to the now bewildered and nearly indignant Nadir I remarked, "You do not need this. It is cruel and completely unnecessary. Think about it, would you like a metal bar thrust into your mouth? I would not."

Nadir stared at the bit in his hand. "But … how will I tell him which way to go?"

I was already mounting MehrzAd, tossing the rein out of immediate reach higher up on his neck.

"Erik! He'll buck you off!"

"Quiet." My tone was soft, I forced all the tension from my voice, leaving it a soft balm to the horse's nervous twitching. "This requires concentration and complete tranquility … of course, this infernal saddle makes it by far more difficult to sense what I need to." The layers of leather were making it exceedingly tricky to feel MehrzAd's reactions. Beneath me, I let him walk slowly, putting a little pressure on his right side with my knee to make him turn. I felt for the point where I found him begin to resist, where my suggestion to him became a sensation to fight. At this point, I fell back to just before it. Then off to the left side I did the same, finding that point where his nature began to fight. His wasn't nearly as fine a line as Faust's. In less than five minutes time, I was able to gently suggest to MehrzAd which way I wished him to take me and he willingly went as long as I respected him.

"Is this how you broke Faust?" Nadir asked in wonder.

"Do not insult my horse." I laughed wryly. "Faust is not broken. But yes, this is how I bonded with him, save I did not insult him with bridle nor saddle."

"Dear Allah, no wonder you were bruised from each of those sessions."

"He did buck me off several times. I simply got back on him, teaching him I would not give up until we found a way to make this work. We built a trust over that time." I halted MehrzAd before his master, gently stroking his mane. "As I found his resistance and how to stay beneath it, he learned I would let him be a dignified stallion if he worked with me. It was simply trust. Now watch—I will tell you when I have instructed MehrzAd to turn. See if you can discern how I am doing it."

Nadir's eyes studied me as I pranced his horse about the field turning him left and right in a pattern of crisscrossing circles. "Your knees? Erik, that's astonishing."

"It works better bareback." I brought his Morgan to a halt and dismounted. "Now you know why I insist on riding without the saddle. Faust's impulses are that much clearer to me."

Stepping towards his horse, Nadir reached out to grab the rein only to see MehrzAd bolt. Of course there was no way the Persian could catch him on foot.

"Faust!" I called out. In less than a heartbeat my Arabian danced before me, his eyes bright with excitement for the impending chase. I swung up onto him calling out, "Nadir, you are hopeless!" I gave Faust a quick flick of the rein. "Chase!" I called out as his hooves tore into the grass. MehrzAd wasn't a particularly fast horse, due to being broke. He stood no chance of outrunning Faust. Before reaching the tree line I leaned out and caught the flying rein in my hand, gently slowing both horses down. "Easy … easy … " Both horses reared and kicked. Faust wasn't fond of the gelding and was showing his disdain for the company. I gave him a sharp tug on his rein to remind him I was still astride. Beside me, MehrzAd was uneasy. Bringing them up to a driving trot, I returned to Nadir's side and placed MehrzAd's reins in his hands. "Keep hold this time! Get on, and let us go home."

The Persian mounted his horse and in silence rode alongside me.

Casting a glare back at him, I pointed to the reins in his hand. "Take care, you can injure his face if you are too rough and he will despise you for it. You must be gentle." I wouldn't trust that he could learn so quickly to control his horse without that accursed bit, and I was right. Though he was trying to steer with his knees, experimenting on the long moonlit trek back south into town, he was still jerking back and yanking MehrzAd's head about. "Easy on the reins!" I growled. After the next three jerks I tore them from his hands and tossed them high on the horses neck beyond his reach. "For heaven's sake! If you cannot be respectful with them, let them be!" MehrzAd tossed me a relieved glance as he felt the make-shift hackamore slacken on his delicate face. By the time we reached the stable, Nadir was showing a novice understanding of how to work a horse from his lower body. As I watched him ride into the stable and dismount, I found my temper still simmering. I had seen him safely home, my task was complete.

Turning Faust with my heel to his side, I eased him towards the city as I heard Nadir call out. "Aren't you coming in?"

"No." I called back, "I am not finished with what I started yet. Go inside and go to bed, Daroga. When you wake, do me a favor and leave your delusions to the dream world where they justly belong."

Faust was waiting for the faint pressure to release him to his stride and off we went, his hooves struck the cobble stone streets their echoes danced around us. Once more to flight, I let him take us where he would, not caring. This time the direction was southward, into the barrows and slums. On foot or in a carriage, I never would have ventured here in the dark of night. But on Faust I had nothing to be concerned with. No man could catch him.

Hours passed on our aimless wandering without Faust tiring. My thoughts swirled in dark waters as I swept him back up the riverside, watching the moon's reflection riding on the turbulent surface. It had not escaped my attention that Christine would have been waiting for me in the music room. There would be no explanation for my sudden disappearance. Save that Nadir himself had also vanished. Time and again, I found myself leaping at the chance to avoid solitary interactions with her, my instincts screaming at me that it was the only way to endure this. And yet, some small voice inside me whispered and pushed me toward the flame, daring me to look into it. I could never decide upon which voice held the correct strategy. At long last, we turned back east on Central Park street and I slowed his full out pace over the last blocks, letting him cool down before walking him through the stable door.

Jacques took Faust's reins and led him back to the stall to settle the horse down for the night. I saw the Arabian's wild eyes glance back at me as he flicked his ears in appreciation. He had enjoyed himself. I only wish I had been able to take more comfort from that ride.

On my way towards the upstairs, Nadir opened his door and was about to come out. Reaching out a deft hand I slammed the door on his face for the second time this night. I wish the man would just listen to me now and again. Storming up the stairs, I went to my quiet study where Charles was snoring on the couch.

My room was dark, and I knew that was where she slept. Even in my anger, I longed to go to her, to lie beside her in my bed for just one night. Just one more stolen night to truly feel like I was an acceptable human being. But I couldn't do that. Not to her. With a sigh, I tossed my cloak over the chair and lay down on the window bench. I would have to find the craftsman who had made this and thank him. Most bow windows did not double as comfortable beds.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13**_

"Madame Lind, that was nearly correct." I lifted my hands from the last chord on the piano. "There was a slight tendency to go flat on the last few measures." It had been a long session this morning, fewer singers meant I was spending a greater time with each, aiding them in perfecting their performance piece. At least the final singers were acceptive of criticism, taking the statements with professionalism and applying each to bring their performance that much higher.

"May I try those measures once more, Monsieur Erik?" She nodded to me, already taking on a more supportive posture for the notes. "I am certain I can support it this time."

"You are getting tired, I admire your persistence. Keep in mind your voice will require more support now. This will be the last time." Placing my fingers on the keys I ran through an entrance for her, a nod of my head bringing her in just as the rear door of the chamber music hall opened. I tried not to glance, but Carnegie's concerned voice carried across the room.

"Gentlemen, is this really necessary? It's the middle of a very important rehearsal." In front of him strode two men in uniform, police uniforms.

"It is." One of them replied. "We need to get this information as soon as possible."

Carnegie brushed past them. "Hold on, wait here for a moment. Let me get him." The policemen halted a few rows back from the stage as Carnegie closed the distance and called out to me. "Erik, can you come down here for a moment."

"Everyone stay put. I will be back." My voice bore a note of distinctive finality as I rose to my feet and jumped down off the stage front to approached the officers beside the nervous Carnegie. I did not say a word.

The officer who spoke, clearly the superior of the two, opened a note book. "What is your name, Sir?"

"Are you deaf?" I replied tersely, my arms crossed over my chest. "Carnegie just employed it when he fetched me from the piano."

The man's expression revealed that he did not like my tone. Well, I wasn't fond of being disrupted in the middle of rehearsal. "State your name," he snapped.

"Erik." I answered just as sharply.

He looked up. "Erik what?"

Here we go again. "Erik is all I have _ever_ gone by. It has been sufficient for the whole of my life. It shall be sufficient for you now. You have been informed you are causing a disruption. State your business here, officer."

That surprised him, he squinted at me for a moment before replying. "We're investigating an incident with one of the investors in this business. You attended a meeting here with Ruescher a few days ago. Did you two exchange heated words?"

I permitted a harsh laugh to escape me. "The list of men in Manhattan who have not exchanged heated words with that man is shorter than those who have. Yes, it is true. Heated words were offered, though they all came from him. As well as an attempt to strike me with his cane." Behind the officers Carnegie shifted a glance my way betraying openly how worried he was. But the officer before me was careless with his notebook. As he scribbled, he tipped it. My height gave the advantage to read notes from previous interviews. Apparently, Ruescher spoke to several men about me. How kind to grant me such attention. I had best keep my eyes open. Likely an attempt on my life could follow, if word that the hiring hand of the hit job had died failed to reach the ears of the one hired to do it. At least I could find the likely sources now, should it occur.

"And did you defend yourself?" The officer asked, still writing.

I shrugged. "If ducking and weaving counts, then yes. I did disarm him, relieving him of the cane. So the only charge you could have on me is damage of personal property when I snapped it into two and handed it back to him. I never struck him, nor threatened the man."

I knew the purpose of the second officer there, he was watching me closely, reading my reactions for some tip off. Searching for some sign I was hiding something, lying, or deflecting. Rather difficult when the subject is wearing a mask. It was made even more difficult by the sheer fact that I was quite good at the game of deception. If this kept up much longer, the officers would not even recall this interview, I did not wish to go that route with so many witnesses, but I was growing weary of the scarcely hidden accusations.

"Did you and Ruescher have a good working relationship?"

"I only just met the man face to face that day. There was not much of one." I rolled my fingers against my upper arm, impatient to return to the rehearsal. It normally wasn't dead silent on the stage during interruptions like this. Right now, the only sound was the scribble of his pen.

"Where were you two nights ago during the hours of midnight and three am?"

I sighed, indeed of course I was a suspect in his murder. "I was in my music room working with Madame Daae on the piece we will be performing." I pointed to her on stage, she had come simply to be part of the group despite that we would not work on our piece here. "If you have any doubts as to that alibi go and ask for Nadir Khan. He will verify that my violin woke him up around half past two and he begged me to stop. My residence is _Clef de Voute Manoir_."

The second officer's eyes widened as he took a step back to observe me better. "You're the eccentric man who lives there?"

Tipping my head to the side, I glared at him before replying coldly, "Yes, I not only live there but I also built it. Now, mind your manners. If you cannot say something civilized, do not speak."

He realized his mistake as his superior put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back. "My apologies. That was a rude thing for him to say. He will keep his mouth shut from this point onwards." He glanced up to the stage. "Madame Daae you said? Which one is she?" As he called out her name I saw Christine step forth from the others.

"Sir? I am Christine Daae." Her eyes flicked to mine and I nodded to her. Scandal or not this had to come to light.

"Were you with him two nights ago in his music room from midnight til around three am?" He inquired loud enough for all to hear.

"Yes, in fact we were later than that." She added details I clearly recalled as well. "Nadir had been upset with us for rehearsing so late. He had come into the room more than once to try and get us to stop. Erik eventually instructed him to stuff cotton in his ears and close the door."

I could not suppress a laugh. "When you live in the house of a musician it is unwise to select a room right beside his music room." Looking to the investigating officer I smiled, treating him like a child. "Now, you have another detail to check. See if he remembers what I told him to do. Go on now, I have work to do here."

But he paused, studying Christine closer. "Pardon my inquiry, Madame Daae. But are you not married to Raoul de Chagny? Why is it you were in this man's home at such a late hour?"

Police, always looking for unusual details. But Christine ignored all the turning heads and shocked glances as she replied, fully poised, "Master Erik saved my son from drowning and tended a wound he had sustained. We have remained at his residence for Charles's welfare. Graciously, Master Erik has tended for all of our needs. That was why I was there at the time. We merely took advantage of some time to work on a piece for the stage."

Jotting down a few notes he nodded. "I see. Are you aware that Raoul de Chagny was found last night on a street corner having been the victim of a mugging?"

Her eyes widened for a moment before she shook her head in mild shock. "No, I wasn't aware of that. Is he all right?"

The officer should have been observing her reactions, but instead he was still writing. The second officer was still staring rudely at me. How curious. But I was detecting that she was forcing the concerned reaction. At least I thought I was seeing that. More than once I had perceived that something was more than just a little turbulent in Raoul's household. Right now I saw evidence enough to question whether or not she really still loved the man. Of course, that could quite easily be the wishful thinking of a broken heart.

"Nothing overly serious, Madame." The officer finished his notes to look up. "Just a broken nose and some bruising. The officers helped him back to his rooms."

"Good." She forced a relieved expression. "I shall tend to him." Something in that tone again. I knew I must be reading it correctly. It was cold. Almost icy. This was a deep wound, older than just the negligence that landed Charles in stitches on my couch. What more had dear Raoul done? And how could I find out without asking her directly?

Turning back to me, the officer looked up. "Now I will need you to remov … "

"No." I cut him off with one resolute word, my eyes meeting his. I could see the glaze forming over his eyes as he softened before me. "That request shall not be asked, nor granted. We are done here. You have what you need. Now go." I had hated to perform that little manipulation with so many to see, but I knew what the end of his sentence was going to be. I would not remove my mask in public—ever again.

Turning on their heels, the officers left with without a word. I watched every step. Until the door closed my body was rigid. At last I sighed and let the tension drain off.

Nervously Carnegie approached my side, keeping his voice low so we were not overheard. "We don't need this kind of publicity, Erik. What are we going to do?"

"Nothing." I replied blandly. "Because there is no connection other than the one you made with him. The man was murdered, but not because he invested in a music hall. That is a fanciful notion."

His eyes searched me long. "Erik, swear to me you were not involved."

"Why are you asking me, Carnegie?" I glanced at him warily. "The man had others crying out for his blood far louder than I. He was a filthy politician with secrets too vast to be kept. Truly, is it a secret any longer when well over half society knows it anyway."

"So you did know him from before."

"I knew _of_ him." I corrected. "There is a marked difference in that. I had never met him prior and now I am quite glad I had not. Apparently he did not care for me one bit."

Carnegie narrowed his eyes. "Because of the cane incident?"

"No, not entirely." I nodded towards the closed door where the men had departed. "The officer was terrible at concealing his notes. Ruescher spoke to at least two others about me following the meeting. What else would have led the officers here? Neither Tuthill, Damrosch, nor yourself would have said a word about that incident. I had best watch my back for a dagger being thrust my way."

"You think that had been his intention?" Trembling with fear, Carnegie placed a hand on my shoulder.

I shrugged. "Would not be the first time that has occurred."

"Erik, you're not worried?" He hardly breathed it out.

"Vigilant, yes. Worried, no. That kind of fear deadens reaction timing."

He paused for a moment before shaking his head. "You told me your life was different before I knew you. I never imagined it entailed such threats. What had you done to earn them?"

I snuffed back. "One does not always need to have actually earned a death threat. Sometimes you are perceived as a likely source of trouble or danger. Now is not the time to speak of this. Be content in the knowledge that I was where I stated at the time. I can prove it, and I had nothing to do with Ruescher's death." I placed an assuring hand on his shoulder. "The cause of his murder is likely political, and eventually all political poison finds itself out into the open where it does the most damage."

"Erik." Carnegie placed a staying hand on my forearm as I had turned to leave for the stage. "Please be careful. I'd hate to imagine what would become of this hall if something happened to you. It worried me enough when the investigators started their inquiry."

"They were merely following up on some information." Shrugging his hand off, I offered a smile I hoped bore more confidence than I actually felt. After all, sometimes convoluted threads could be created out of mis-perceptions and lead to innocent parties being found guilty. "It would be quite neglectful of them not to perform their duty. Now, if you will excuse me, we have the rest of the rehearsal to conclude."

As I mounted the stage I did not need to look up to feel the suspicious stares coming my way. There was no way to avoid the current of rumors that would now flow like a torrent from the vocalists. Soon it would spread further and I knew all too well where this dangerous thread could lead. Upholding a strong facade of calm ease, I managed to conceal the unsettling feeling in my gut. If I appeared at all nervous, it would only seem to confirm the idea that I was hiding something.

Sitting down at the piano, I glanced over my shoulder at Lind, "Where were we before the rude interruption? Ahh yes, the last few measures." With a small gesture of my hand I drew her back to the side of the piano. "Nice and tall, well supported." My fingers struggled for a moment to find the proper chords. What would I do if somehow the police decided I had been responsible for Ruescher's murder? The next chords would not come to me. Before I had not spared a thought on them, there had been no need. Now I could not concentrate enough to remember what they were. All I could think about was the insolent dead politician.

Curse him for dying like that now!

"Monsieur Erik?" Lind's voice broke through my distracted thoughts. "I am ready, only waiting on your accompaniment."

"Yes, of course." I closed my eyes and drew up the chords. Concentrating too hard, the result of which was the accompaniment pouring out onto the keys with far less passion than before. Whether or not Lind was completely on pitch or slightly flat again I did not discerned. It took too much to push back the preoccupation from my mind.

"Was that better?" She inquired.

"Rest your voice for now." I avoided answering the question. "It has been a long session for today." With a finger I drew Kline from the others. "You are the last one for today."

I hoped that switching to the next vocalist would help me to concentrate. But even as he approached the piano's side I could tell my theory was dead wrong. Inside me welled up a deep seated fear of being made the scapegoat for Ruescher's murder. Whether the weapon had been the illogical silk stockings or not, I couldn't help but draw back to the second officer's remark in regards to my residence. The unusual are often seen in ill-favored light. And society certainly found my mask to be the tell tale mark of an eccentric man. There already were tales brewing among Ruescher's vast community of the apparent conflict between us. With those men of influence, there would not need be much more than a hint of proof and I could find myself in a very uncomfortable position. I was uncertain if I was privy to enough secrets to secure my freedom should the tide turn against me. What was I going to do?

The notes came out of the piano, but I was an automaton. Kline was singing. I barely heard him. Before I knew it, we had reached the end of the piece. I had not stopped him nor made any remarks throughout the entire piece. That had not happened in any of the rehearsals, with any of the singers.

"Monsieur Erik, how was it?" Kline asked, clearly confused by my lack of remark.

Withdrawing my hands from the keys, I attempted to scrape together some feedback. At least appearing to be deep in thought was not a problem, I was deep in thought. Lost in thought would be more accurate. That was when the whispering caught my attention. I did not need to actually hear any of the words. A simple glance out of the corner of my eyes caught Annitolli, Lind, and La Mareesa casting scarcely hidden suspicious looks my way. Had they been whispering the whole time? Was that what had driven me to distraction?

Reaching over, I grabbed my wine glass from the side table and took a quick drink, the bottle from my cellar standing next to it. It bought me a little time, but not enough. I still had no critique for Kline. Behind me the whispers increased and I caught that the occasional word 'murder' was amongst them. I fought the urge but lost the battle when my hands caught my forehead, elbows braced on the lip before the piano keys.

"Erik!" I did not look up, I did not move. It did not even register who was speaking. "Erik, may I interrupt?"

Tuthill, William Tuthill was the voice. "Please do." I uttered through gritted teeth. His steps carried him up on the stage right to the edge of the piano.

"Do you recall the statue for the upstairs lobby?" There was a nervous tinge to his voice, it betrayed that something was seriously wrong. Please make this something I could fix.

Leaning back from the keys, I did not want to look up as I pondered what could have happened. "The one at the center point?" I replied. "The angel."

"Yes." In my peripheral vision I caught him wringing his hands.

"The one scheduled to have been completed two weeks back." I added.

"The very same." He nodded.

"What of it?" Did I really wish to know?

Taking a deep breath, he spoke with great reluctance. "It is far from complete."

Looking up for the first time, I crossed my arms over my chest. "And why is this?"

"I was informed the stonemason assigned to it was unable to accomplish the task and had hidden that news from the contractor."

I growled. "I knew I should have left that project with my own crew!"

"Now Erik." Tuthill held out his hands. "It is just an ornamental statue. Your crew has been working on the main structural details which is the most important."

"It is more than just a statue." I glared up at him heatedly. "It is the focal point of that entire upper lobby!"

Taking a step back at my outburst, Tuthill seemed astonished. Clearly he had not realized there was more to the piece's significance than first it seemed. "There is no way we can dedicate enough crew to finish it on time for the opening night. The crews are spread too thin."

I heaved a long sigh. "What point was my design abandoned at?"

"Rough out cuts are complete, but there is hardly any detail work."

I rolled my fingers upon my knee as I contemplated the time left, the full design, and what it would take to finish it. It was the tribute to the very spirit of music. It would be completed. "Send Samuel to _Clef de Voute Manoir_ with instructions to fetch my stone working tools immediately and deliver them to the foot of the statue. Kline is my last vocalist. When I finish with him I will commence work on the statue. You best hope that Lloyd is well enough to return to this bench tomorrow, for once these hands take up the chisel there is no force upon this earth that can pry me from unlocking the stone."

His eyes widened. "Erik! There is no way the statue can be finished on time! There aren't enough hours in the day!"

"Maybe not in the day alone, but add the night's hours and there is plenty of time for me." I held up a hand, heading off the reply I saw coming from him. "Not another word on it! I designed that statue for a purpose and just because another man decided it was beyond his skill does not cast it beyond my own. Send Samuel, I insist."

Shaking his head, he sighed. "It seems so trivial."

I turned back to the keys of the piano. "It will not be when you see it completed. Now go!" As Tuthill walked off the stage, his eyes glancing back at me in confusion I engaged Kline once more. "Time is now of the essence. From the beginning, this is likely the last time I will accompany you. I will make it count."

* * *

Entering the balcony's lobby I had no idea what precisely I would find. One person's definition of rough cut often differed from another's. Centered against the windows that lined the upper lobby was the shrouded statue, clearly to hide its lack of completion. At the foot of the pedestal lay my assembled tools, delivered as requested. I reached out and gently pulled back the cloth uncertain I really wished to see what had become of my vision. In a cascade of folds the cloth fell at the foot of the statue and I beheld the visage for the first time.

The cuts were rough indeed, leaving the angel's basic body shape where the travertine stone had been cut away. It was evident that the form of a standing figure was taking shape with a set of folded wings draped behind her back, one limb promising grace extended to the side, the other hugging a shape to her breast. The features were not there, barely even hinted at in the blocky cuts. Fortunately I had selected to create the piece in half scale. The smaller size made for harder navigation in the detail work, but quicker time over all in completion. I ran my hand along the stone surface, examining the feel of the material. I loved travertine, the stone that Giovanni trained my hands on all those years ago. This stone had a life of its own, unlocking the heart within and carving with a feel for its spirit was what made for beautiful works. When I had selected the type of stone, I had neglected to consider that those who had not come from the quarries of Italy might lack the experience essential to birth artwork of such a stone. Limestone is soft which requires a delicate hand so as not to overwork it. As I examined the cuts, the evidence of the harsh treatment was obvious. Whoever had been chosen had swung as though striking a hard marble. He had not cut deep enough to ruin the sculpture yet, had he continued he would have.

"I have never seen you work stone before." Turning my head I discovered Christine standing at the top of the stairs, her hands folded before her. "Would it bother you if I sat and watched?"

"If you wish, though I may get lost in the task and cease to speak." Returning to examining the stone, I ran my hand over every centimeter, measuring from the comparison of my mental picture of the finished work. "It is not me being rude, simply focused."

She took a few steps toward a ledge by the window where she could see better. Sitting on the ledge, she watched me curiously. "You had finished the work of the Paris Opera long before I had first heard your voice."

Sliding my fingers along the rough angel wing I nodded. "Six years of solitude, to be exact."

She laughed. "You don't forget anything do you."

Shrugging I replied, "Some may call that a blessing, however there are many things I long to forget that I can recall with excruciating detail."

"Watching you now reminds me of when you were working on a musical score." She remarked observantly, "Your eyes, your entire body is locked on the target with so much affection. Like the stone can feel the intensity of your caress."

I had never dared to make that comparison before, but as my hands explored the stone there was no doubting the accuracy of her observation. In a strange way, carving was like making love to the stone, just as much passion went into it as far as my limited experience in the act of love making was concerned. Right now, my heart ached for the state of this stone. It had been abused and neglected, covered over and forgotten. So much beauty dwelt beneath the surface of the rough cuts in her graceful curves. The stone worker before me had clearly lacked the passion to fulfill her promise. As my fingers explored the curve across the right shoulder and down the angel's front I discovered what had likely been his reason for abandoning the stone. The right arm was extended before her to cradle a little bird in her outstretched hand. This was a critical part of the design. Her right shoulder revealed a flaw in the stone, the wrong strike and the whole arm would crumble off the body.

"I see why he walked away." I frowned. "He had been intimidated by the flaw here."

She had slid from the window ledge, her soft footsteps carrying her towards me. Craning her neck to see better, she inquired, "Is the stone bad?"

"No," Selecting the proper tools to work the soft stone, I laid them out within easy reach. "Every stone bears a flaw of some sort. The skill to work through the flaw is what separates novice stone workers from the master masons. For if one only worked flawless stone, one would quickly find a shortage in material to carve. Of course, it is always best to select away from critical flaws."

"That one is not critical?"

"It will take some finesse to work it without shattering, but it can be done." Taking up the chisel I set it to the stone and gently tapped, feeling the vibration of the stone through my fingers. I tested each side of the flaw in a few areas. "The placement within the sculpt is regrettable, but it is where it is." Adding a bit more pressure, I began to strike the chisel with only enough force to bite into the soft stone and begin to cut out precise pieces. Working around the flaw first, I desired to shape this critical portion before venturing further into the sculpture. After all, if I did slip and fracture the flaw there was no point in continuing. Steady hands worked in small smooth strokes as the pile of stone chips began to grow at my feet. Soon the folds of her elegant robe began to take shape from the lumpy mess I had been presented with.

On the floor below us the dull thud of the hall door opening and closing could be heard. The performers wordless voices echoed in the main lobby as they left for the day. The finality of the outer door shutting announced to us that we were alone in our lofty dwelling.

"It's amazing." Christine's voice cut into my consciousness as I switched to a detailing chisel. "The process of turning something as hard as stone into a defined shape."

"Stone carving is destructive when you really think about it." My eyes never left the statue as my chisel continued to bite in and nip out the details. "After all, the sheer action of carving is essentially breaking the stone, simply in a controlled manner. Too much force and the whole block could split in the wrong direction. For one to be successful it needs to be intuitive which angle and how hard to strike to get the desired fracture."

Her voice was closer this time, by several meters. "It must take a lot of strength."

"Depending on the stone. With travertine it is more patience and skill. Alabaster requires an oddly balanced touch, a very hard stone but hardness leads to a brittle quality that can shatter it if struck too violently."

"When did you learn to work such magic with stone? Who was your teacher?"

Absently I answered her question. "I first learned as an apprentice to Giovanni, working travertine out of the quarry before he brought me to the work site."

"A dangerous job, I imagine."

I replied blandly, "Oh men could die. Scaffolding could fall, a pulley or rope could fail resulting in an entire block crushing a man. It did not happen often. Initially I kept to one end of the work site while the older men worked on the other."

"Older?" Her voice carried a deep confusion. "How old were you when you were apprenticed?"

Walking the chisel down the outstretched arm I smoothed out the graceful muscles. "Age is something I have always had trouble determining, especially in those earlier years. I can only make a comparative guess. I was older than Charles, but had not yet attained my full height … still in that so called adolescent stage."

Inhaling sharply, I heard her take an involuntary step backwards. "You were still a young boy and working in a quarry?"

"Yes." Sliding the chisel into my right hand, I let the fingers of my left hand encircle the angel's arm and slide down it, testing for a smooth contour. I found some inconsistencies.

"Surely they don't typically employ boys at such a young age." She was truly worried. I could only imagine she was picturing Charles at some work site with a tremendous block of stone suspended above his head.

"I was only his apprentice. I would have no idea how common the practice was, it is not something I asked of Giovanni when he offered me a trade to keep me off the streets and save my soul."

The kind man had met me when I was but a mischievous boy attired as a garish Gypsy, my idle hands employed in cheap magic tricks and shameless pick-pocketing to keep me alive in my wandering. It became his apparent goal to save me from a life of evil by teaching me a more constructive trade, one in which my eyes already saw great beauty. I had simply lacked the knowledge of how to coax the designs in my mind out of the stone that lay before me. Giovanni had painstakingly taught me this, and in those bitter sweet years he carved a few benevolent marks into my heart of stone. I could never fully repay the one man, who had for a short time, been the closest to a father I would ever know. I'm not certain that in the whole of the world there truly was anything worth that much. Save one thing. And I was doing it now … using the craft he lovingly shared with me to create monuments that would last in stone for centuries. Making beautiful buildings, beautiful works that would be a silent testament to the tentative gesture of an aging mason to a reclusive, roguish boy. He had willingly chosen to work severely flawed stone, coaxing out of me a beauty even I had been unaware lay beneath the surface.

Her voice grew closer yet again, she was practically over my shoulder by now. "You weren't on the scaffolding, though. Right."

I laughed as I switched to a fine chisel. The little wren on the angel's outstretched hand was currently but a bump and I was going to remedy that. "It was my favored place. Many of the workmen did not care for the heights. I found solace in them as I could more readily survey everything around me. Not long before meeting Giovanni, my life had been rather … " I had to search for the proper word to describe my captivity with the Gypsy caravan, " … traumatic. I had been given very little cause to trust anyone and developed a rather deep seated hatred for humanity."

She was quiet for a long while. I could almost hear her mind working those words. Over the months I had spent with her in my childish obsession at the Paris Opera, I had only shared glimpses of my life, never too much detail. And certainly I kept from her my darkest days … those days that were filled with the horrors that fueled the cruel beast within. I had hinted, but never gone into any details. I was uncertain why I shared what I had now.

At long last, she broke the silence. With her words, I knew why it had taken her so long to speak. "The cage." Christine had been considering whether or not to reveal she had heard of that part of my nightmare.

My chisel drew back for a moment, least I accidentally strike the little wren from its delicate perch. "That … " I swallowed, "and more. Honestly, I was likely younger than Charles when I found myself their captive, displayed for the sole purpose of gaining coins as the public stared in horror. Years passed, and I had only been able to gain a shred of respect from them. The only reason was a trade off. If they offered me a little comfort and basic dignity I employed a few skills to increase their profits. None of which I ever saw. My master was a cruel, sick man who on more than one occasion had beaten me near senseless. The last night in his presence, I had been forced to kill him and thus, any semblance of innocence I may have still possessed. I rode out of their camp with the blood soaked blade that had wrested Javert's life from him." When I glanced at her, I saw the sympathy in her eyes as she clutched an arm to her breast.

"You never told me of this. My God, Erik." She shook her head, shuddering as she spoke. "I imagine Charles locked in a struggle as you describe and it leaves me shivering. To think of him capable of killing someone only a few years from now."

I took the chisel back to stone, trying to lose myself in the work once more. "When one is left with no options that, is when you find what one is truly capable of. Child or not, the man had left me with no options and he paid the ultimate price. To say I had not been scarred by the experience would be a gross understatement. It was the moment I comprehended how simple it was to end another's life, that I was capable of defending myself. It was the moment I ultimately lost my fear of death."

"You speak of it without emotion, so cold and distant." Hesitating she continued, "It's more than a little disturbing."

The little bird's tiny stone eye squinted up at me as I lifted the chisel to shift to the other side. "Perhaps because so much time has passed since that dreadful night. Once more, I was not conscious of keeping track of the years at such a young age. However it has been somewhere from forty-six to forty-nine years since then. Longer than you have been alive, if I might add. The revelation had a rather drastic drawback. I became terribly reckless, far too many paid the price for Javert's betrayal."

The silence stretched onwards, interrupted only by my tools working the stone. Christine had known I had murdered, that was not a secret I had kept from her. The degree of the intention behind it had never been openly shared. Nadir had known, how could he not after my duties as executioner in the Persian courts. Towards the end, I had even bloodied my own hands when the khanum grew weary of my devices and wished to see her Angel of Doom slaughter the prisoners before her. So much blood, not all truly deserving of the fate. I loathed those days. I had been so naïve, my ego had blinded me to the deceptions of the court and I had nearly walked directly into a trap that would have cost me my head. After all, _my_ ego had not been the only one on the line. The shah, whom I had built a palace for, had not wished me to build for anyone else. The only way to prevent that in his eyes was by ensuring I couldn't build ever again. His suspicion had been correct. Nothing on this earth could have bought my loyalty to such a spoiled brat.

I hated to waste even thoughts on that era as the tiny wren's eyes smiled up at me. After I had finished the main details of the statue I would return and detail in feather work and more. For now, the cheeky little song bird perched perfectly in the angel's graceful fingers, gazing towards her face with the beak just cracking open, on the verge of breaking forth into song. Having reached the end of the first limb, I shifted my focus to the soft wistful features of the angel's face, and the gentle cascade of her hair. As I angled my chisel to work the right cascade of her hair, I noticed how close Christine was, sitting just to the opposite side of the pedestal. Her eyes locked on my hands as they danced about the facial work. Every stone worker knew the headpiece is where the eye is first drawn. These features must be striking, engaging. I had never doubted my inspiration for the angel of music statue, first sketched out over a year ago from exquisite memory. I chiseled in the graceful facial features of the very woman who watched me carving now. Secretly I watched her, waiting for her eyes to betray her recognition.

I set into the stone chip delicate chip the gentle inset of her eyes that allowed such an exquisite range of expression. The eyes are the window to the inner world we try so much to hide from observation. Their setting has bearing on how expressions came across; be the setting narrow, wide, high, low, or the perfect placement. Of course, the color of the two matching also helps. I was well aware how unnerving the mismatched colors of the only feature of my face fully visible at all times could truly be. After all, often I employed that very nature to my advantage. And yet, I wished that they did not betray my inner unbalance. I looked with envy to Christine's bright blue eyes, perfectly matched and I pined for the ability of others to look at me and not feel the chill I subconsciously inflicted. A cascade of slightly waved hair rolled down onto the angel's forehead, the central tendrils coming to rest just above the point of her perfect nose. It was astonishing how much the nose effects the balance of the face. Too large or bulbous and the face is dwarfed beneath the monumental superstructure. Small and snippy leaves the face to resemble something like a high strung lap dog or a common gutter rat. As I ran the chisel down the bridge in a perfect mimic of Christine's nose, I could not help but feel a slight twinge at my own obsession with this singular feature. I knew it was largely in part to the simple fact that beneath my mask much of my own had never fully formed. It took too much effort to shove that thought from my conscious mind. After all, I did not want to start carving my own features into what should be a lovely work of stone. As I softened the line of the cheek bones on either side I saw Christine's eyes narrowing as she leaned forward. Disbelief was scarcely hidden as she blinked for a long moment before taking a breath to speak.

She did not have a chance to ask, not a single word before my foot tapped the rolled up draft of the statue and pushed it towards her. She glanced at it, then up to me as I nodded that had been my intent. She picked it up and unrolled the vellum with a sharp intake of breath.

Softly I murmured, "I hardly needed you to stand before me to remember your beauty. Even after all the years, my memory served me well enough never to forget even a single feature of your flawless perfection."

"Why me?" She whispered in astonishment.

I shrugged as I refined the statue's jawline. "Who else to represent the embodiment of the spirit of music than you? Honestly, I could think of no better inspiration than your memory. Of course, when I first drafted the statue, I had no idea you would ever set your eyes upon it. Call it a bitter man grieving for a distant better time. And what more fitting tribute then to set that memory into everlasting stone." My hands caressed the line checking for the perfection my inspiration possessed. "To create art from stone, we chip away the excess, we remove by precise brutal strikes the pieces that do not fit to make up the whole. There are times in life when we are driven to take similar actions, required to take a chisel and mallet to a part of our life that threatens to unbalance the whole." As I spoke, I felt my throat tightening, I hoped it was imperceptible in my voice. "Always one is left wondering if that choice was a wise one when left staring at the void that must now be filled."

The sound of the chisel working was the only sound to break the complete silence that followed. I could not look at her now. Inside I felt too much pain for the past. Too much raging emotion vested in that night all those years ago when we had said what was to be our final good bye. Letting the tool work the soft stone before me, I poured my feelings into the task. After all, I had drafted an expression of immense longing on the angel's face purposefully. The sheer embodiment of what it is to be a musician, the longing of perfect expression that compels us to stand before the world, to make others feel deeply and completely the emotion we wish to portray. Right now I knew I tapped a vein too close to tremulous inner feelings. I needed desperately to lose myself in the work now and try to once more lock the desire to go back and change the past behind a secure door, deep inside myself.

The graceful gentle arc of her neck as she gazed down upon the wren began to take shape. I was completely unaware of the passage of time. It could have been hours since first I laid eyes on this stone, or it may have been days. With a set rhythm I swung the mallet, walking the chisel in the repetitious disciplined arcs of creation. Beneath the gentle grasp of her arm I was well into cutting in the harp's strings when I once more became aware of Christine's presence. She had been so respectfully silent, that over time I had forgotten she was still watching me carve. Barely an arm's length away from me now I felt a little discomforted by her nearness.

"Careful, least the mallet strike you instead of the chisel, my dear." I remarked without glancing from the detailed work.

"My apologies," she spoke softly. "I was only trying to see better." As she shifted back a few paces, I felt the pressure on me lessen. Why did she have to have that curious effect on me? I still desired so much to hold her, simply to touch her, just a quick caress. But I dared not, knowing what that brief indulgence would cost my delicate sanity. Truly, what would be the point? My angel belonged to someone else. I had to continue to remind myself with greater effort that she would be leaving my home sometime soon. This reality could not be avoided.

"The little bird, " Christine broke into my thoughts like a thief, her voice soft. "Would that be a wren? I couldn't place it until the harp was taking shape. The inspiration must be … "

"Gaelic." I replied as I added the last knot-worked detail into the harp's proud stem. "Since Carnegie is Scottish I thought a little nod to the Gaelic corner of the world only befitting. Wrens of course being symbolic of the ancient troubadours of old. Thus, this statue ties together many an element of music and those who were involved in bringing this hall to life. I'll be curious to see if he is as observant as you are when he first sees it completed. I never even showed him the drawing."

From the floor below, I heard a door opening and the echoing steps across the main lobby. The rustle of fabric carried through the hall, even Christine caught the sound and lapsed into silence. The rehearsal must have finished early under Lloyd's accompaniment. All sound ceased from below. All I heard was the resounding effect of my mallet striking the chisel. The voices were unaware of how they carried and betrayed their intentions.

"You go first!" The forceful whisper of Kline's voice precluded them all.

"You!" Annitolli answered curtly. "It was your idea!"

Lind was less able to keep her voice from carrying. "Who cares, someone just go and see if she's there."

"She missed rehearsal, she never missed rehearsals before. Even when her son was injured, she attended rehearsals shortly after." La Mareesa replied. "What? Are you two afraid?"

"I am not scared." Annitolli snorted back with quiet indignity.

"Then why haven't you taken even a single step?" La Mareesa chided.

"Men!" Lind muttered. "Oh for heaven's sake. I'll go."

The click of her shoes on each step echoed until at last I glimpsed her eyes peering just above the line of the stairs. They widened before her hand could be seen gesturing the others to join her. "Come! Look! You won't believe it! It's her!" The voice was hushed, but clearly carried more than she was aware.

A hushed scrambling of steps ensued until all four vocalists crouched on the stairs, their eyes peeking just over the steps like children eavesdropping. It was a rather humorous sight.

"She's there?" Kline asked.

"Yes—but look—the statue." Lind pointed.

Annitolli muttered an Italian curse. "She's _there!_ "

"Good afternoon." Christine greeted them pleasantly enough, throwing a casual glance their way.

All four sets of eyes flashed to meet hers, their expression suddenly sheepish. All the while I was still carving away. One would have believed by observation that I was completely unaware of the drama unfolding behind me. Gradually, an idea began to dawn on me, a slow smile crept onto my face. Why not? Without turning or acknowledging them, I picked a point on the stairs below them and concentrated on throwing my voice to that exact point. From dead behind them, out of thin air came my most ominous tone. "It is considerably rude to stare when you are uninvited guests."

In unison all four eavesdroppers spun around, startled to find empty space. In a hurried panic, they bumbled back down the stairs to the echo of Christine's amused laughter. Seconds later the sound of the front door slamming shut informed us they had hastily departed, leaving us in peace.

Christine came back toward me, still laughing softly. I myself could not help a little chuckle. "Well, I daresay that they may think twice before trying something like that again."

"The look on their faces." She glanced back to the stairs, "They honestly must have believed you were behind them somehow."

I switched my angle with the chisel and nodded, "Were we back in the Paris Opera House, I could have managed that little trick and really given them a fright." I shrugged. "But those days are behind me. And that is where I wish them to remain."

Transitioning to the cut of the wings, I smoothed out the folded cascades of feathers as they delicately enfolded the body of the angel. My chisel made quick work of layering in the feathered pattern with the central shaft set into each one. The pattern was so repetitious I found my mind drifting off in contemplation. Where was Raoul? What was he doing after all this time? Had it dawned on him that his wife and apparent son had not returned to their rooms in all these days? If it had; there is no reason he should not have inquired as to their whereabouts here, at the hall his wife was to perform at. And yet, he had not. The knave! He had her, the most precious creation on the face of this earth! Even now, I could not deny how much I longed to reach out and claim her. I would not give in to this desire, but I failed to see how the man could have come to such a state as to allow his family out of sight for so long. And yet … it occurred to me that Christine had not dashed off to check on Raoul. Had the police not reported that he had been helped back to their rooms? Her only reply had been flat and oddly emotionless. Instead of tending to her husband, she had tailed me to sit and watch for hours on end as I painstakingly carved a statue. Raoul could be dead for all she knew. My time with her in Paris had been regrettably brief, and yet I was aware of the fathomless depth of her emotions. Why now was there none granted to the man she should hold dearest to her heart? I loathed even admitting that connection, but there was no denying the reality of their marriage.

Before I knew it, my chisel was cutting in the last delicate folds of the angel's gown. Standing back, I walked around the figure to be certain everything was to my satisfaction. Outside the windows the daylight filtering in cast shadows over slight imperfections that I quickly nipped away. A black shadow caught my attention by the window ledge, Christine sat on the floor, wrapped up in my cloak sound asleep. So distracted had I been that I had failed to note her passage across the room. It was a good cloak to seek warmth in, cashmere with a burgundy satin lining to seal out drafts. I only hoped her fingers had not explored the plethora of hidden pockets that were scattered about. One held my Punjab cord.

In the silence, I returned to the statue for the final stages. Fine chisels worked in delicate details. The feathers fine barbs on the little wren, the finer details in her hair with the circlet of flowers upon her head, gentle folds on her gown that creased between the larger ones all gradually found their way into the expressive stone. The light outside the window my only hint at the passage of time. By the time I had completed the detailed work and rubbed down the entire statue, the sun had set in the outside world. It was no wonder that Christine had fallen asleep. She was unaccustomed to burning the midnight oil to the extent I was. I knew I had worked through the night and the following day without pause, without thought, without a passing care. Only now as I gazed at the finished piece did I feel that strange emotion that often accompanied completion. The process of creation was done, I felt at a loss. As I stepped back to see how the smooth stone evoked my design, I indeed reveled in her beauty, her ability to portray the deepest power of music as she cast her gaze on the significant little wren. It was all I imagined, and yet … it was done. She needed my hands no longer, she could stand on her own and I was consumed by an overwhelming sadness for her now eternal independence.

Behind me, Christine approached. She must have only just woken. Discarding my cloak on the ledge she approached with breathless joy. "She is absolutely gorgeous, Erik! I cannot believe how quickly you brought out that much detail in what had been a featureless figure." She examined it close enough, that had the angel been real, she would have felt the breath caressing her skin. "May I touch her?"

"Of course." I replied wearily, awash now in the draining emotions. "She is made of stone, she will not fracture at a mere caress."

As her hand reached out to grace the facial features I felt a shiver tear through me. I knew what it was. Jealousy. I was jealous of that statue for its shear ability to withstand her lavish attentions. I would give anything to be on that pedestal, anything to be caressed with that much affection. Why must the world be so cruel?

Stiffly, I tried to recompose myself by collecting my tools and returning them in order. When I turned around I found Christine with a broom in her hands humming softly as she swept up the chips. She smiled with the purpose. I must have paused too long, staring dumbly at this mundane activity, as Christine noticed. "The mess is un-befitting her stature. I thought it best to sweep it up, give her a more dignified presence."

Stumbling over my words, I could not fight the smile, "Well, certainly … I was getting to that. Christine, you do not have to do that."

She laughed, continuing on. "It's no trouble, Erik. Go on and gather your things. A little sweeping won't hurt me any."

By the time all my tools had been gathered, she had discarded all the excess stone and left the floor surrounding the pedestal pristinely clean. Framed by the central window, she was a wonder to behold—both my angels of music. Only one could I keep, and she would never sing for me as she was made of stone.

Grabbing my cloak, I stretched out a beckoning hand to Christine. "It is late, time we return home. You should get some real rest in a bed rather than wrapped in my cloak on the cold stone floor."

Closing the gap she smiled up at me. "The embrace of your cloak is wonderfully warm and soft. I never even noticed the cold floor beneath me." Taking up her own lighter cloak, she swung it over her shoulders as we walked down the stairs.

Stepping outside into the darkened streets, a gust of chilled wind stole through the gaps in the buildings, threatening to tear our cloaks from our shoulders. Christine was quiet at my side, but aglow with a warmth I wished to embrace, even if just for a short time. Her smile so tender, so sweet. So torturous.

"Erik?" She began as we were about to cross the deserted cobblestone street. "I love—"

It was as far as she got before my instincts stole every cognitive action in my body. My fingers had the cord out of the cloak pocket and flying through the air in less than a heartbeat. The thin cord found the throat of my would-be assailant, a quick hard flick of my wrist and he drew his last breath the moment he came face to face with me. My mask was the last thing he saw as his lifeless body fell forward by sheer momentum. The knife intended for my back struck the cobblestones with a resounding clang. My eyes searched the dark corners for a second hired blade. The vigilant search, greeted with nothing but windswept debris; my fingers released the cord with a deft flick and quickly tucked it out of sight. The man before me was unknown, but clearly among the disreputable. Likely he had taken the job for a quick hand out, not knowing what his hunt would entail.

Christine had ceased to breathe, merely standing there staring wide-eyed at the blade that lay shining in the moonlight. In those wide eyes, there was no denying the fear welling up inside. She had now seen me kill.

"Christine." I spoke softly, forcefully reining in the instinctual side of me that had just saved my back from being rent wide open. "My dear." I saw her take a breath before she flicked a panicked glance at me. "It is alright. He will not hurt anyone any more."

"My God, Erik … " She gasped, openly trembling, "You killed him … one moment he was breathing … "

"With the intent to plunge that knife into my heart." I kept my voice level. She very much reminded me of a horse before a rattlesnake. Nervous and jittery, likely to break at a moments notice. Burying my own anxiety was the only hope I had of helping her maintain a semblance of calm.

"How did you know?"

"Too much past experience." I sighed. "This is not the only time a knife has been requested to put an end to my days. Come child," I gestured towards the house. "We need to get you to safety. Then I need to clean up this mess before it comes back to haunt me."

Her eyes continued to cast back over her shoulder to the body in the street as I walked her up to my front door. "Erik … are you sure he is dead?"

"Quite sure." I replied firmly. "I never miss in such circumstance. Now, go up to bed. Take some laudanum and sleep."

Even as I turned from her in the doorway, I knew the damage had been done. In her eyes that horrified seed of distrust revealed itself. She had seen me kill! Not just a story. Not just words. But the act was witnessed. Granted, I had not been given a choice. Had I not reacted as I had it is entirely possible we both may have been slain. My Christine …

Forcing myself back to the task at hand, I grumbled to myself as I stood over his prostrate body. Why did he have to go and make a botch of this? Now I actually had something to hide!


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14**_

A single lantern cast an ominous glow through the back tavern room in the early morning hours. There were no windows, and only a single wooden door. A plain plank table with mismatched wooden chairs was sufficient to nearly fill the entire width and breadth of the room. Men paid dearly for its use. This place was not built for comfort, it was built for one purpose and one purpose only; the passing of secrets with the utmost requirement that they be retained. I often employed this room, located in the heart of the Hell's Kitchen district, when the passing of notes was deemed too slow, too liable. Now was that time.

Each of them had entered the room in response to the summons, each coming to a side of the table. I remained broodingly silent facing the door from across the table. They knew from my hasty summons not to speak a word of greeting. As the last of my three best informants seated himself on my left hand side, I cast my eyes over them collectively. Shuan Jin, an employee of the Phoenix Pavilion who provided me with the whisperings of the barely conscious men. Antonino Gallo, a young Italian with far too much time on his hands to be employed respectfully. Cormac Byrne, an Irish immigrant with a charming personality that could con the secrets out of any honest, or dishonest man.

In the flickering lantern light, I brought my palms together before me as if in prayer. Though there would be none of that this evening. "Gentlemen." My voice was an icy cold whisper, like the chill creeping on a late autumn wind promising the killing frosts of winter. "You are well aware by now that my midnight summons are never carried without just cause. You are all also well acquainted with the king's ransom I dispense when provided with timely information. Tonight, I have summoned you here with such a request."

Their eyes locked upon me in anticipation to serve. Already, I could see their desire to win my offer dancing in the black void of their exposed pupils. With a sharp thwack, I flung the knife from beneath my cloak to stick blade first into the center of the table. The silhouette cast an ominous shadow upon my chest.

"That very blade was intended to be delivered into my back earlier this evening." My voice pulsed with venom. "I wish to return to sender. However, I found its wielder without breath to provide an address. I require who the wielder was and precisely who sent him."

All three men leaned closer to the blade, examining it in the dim light. Not a word was spoken, but here and now I could be patient. as these trusted men weighed the currents of rumors to secure the threads of truth. Antonino's eyes glimmered in the light as he reached forth and gently prized the knife from the table. Studying the grip closer, he narrowed his eyes, nodding hesitantly.

"Monsieur Erik." His heavily accented voice broke the silence. "This blade was carried by none other than Ignazio Moretti."

If it were not for the fact that the man had previously tried to kill me, I should laugh at the significance of his first name. It meant 'unknowing'. Truly Ignazio had no knowledge of what he had been commanded to do the night he accepted my death order.

"What are his connections?" Beneath my cloak I crossed my arms over my chest.

The Italian laughed darkly as he expertly flipped the knife in his hands. "None really, just a common thug who regularly stirred up trouble. Hand for hire, you know the kind. Readily disposable, perfect for those jobs most sensible men wouldn't take."

"Like trying to kill Most Honorable Erik." Shuan gave me a respectful bow. "Man would have to take leave of his senses to even consider such a daunting challenge."

I glanced to the opium den informant. "Were there whispers of intent to harm me?"

"You would have been the first to know." He held out a hand, palm up. "Not a breath came within our walls, or the walls of the other dens. As always, our ears are trained to protect our great provider."

This troubled me. Normally there was at least a vague whisper. Someone had gone to great lengths to hide their intentions these last days. I needed to know who, and very swiftly before he learned of the first attempt's failure.

Catching the blade in mid air from Antonino's hand, Cormac offered a cocky smile. "Come to think of it, I remember that laddie now. Saw 'im stealin' amongst a tavern one night crowing to the stars that he had hisself a real loverly task to complete. Payment quite handsomelike. Should set him up for the rest of his days."

"Sounds just like his brazen demeanor." Antonino chuckled darkly as he studied Cormac's hands playing with the blade. "When he prized that knife out of a bar fight, his bragging filled the halls for weeks till he must've grown tired of his own voice."

Shaking his head, Cormac flipped the blade and jammed it down into the table as hard as he could, grinning at the reverberating whine of the metal. "Course he never named names of his target. So, you see, sir. I never imagined it had been your back he was referring to or I would have sent word right away. As Shuan said, man'd have to take leave of hisself to even try his luck on ya." He eyed my dark gaze before lifting his chin in question. "Trust he ain't in a state to claim this little friend no more." With a swift motion, he jerked the blade from the wooden surface.

I nodded scornfully. "Suffice it to say gentlemen, that if you wish to lay eyes upon Ignazio again it would require a trip across the Atlantic Ocean and the use of a pry bar to open his unusual casket. Shame I had been unaware of his name during his burial among the cargo, I could have written him a colorful epitaph."

The men chuckled at my dark humor.

"That task has been dealt with." I dismissed it with a wave of my hand. Turning to Cormac I inquired, "Did our friend provide a name of his employer with any of his bragging?"

The Irishman closed his eyes, deep in thought. He was. after all, privy to a number of secrets, it was no surprise he had to parse through his thoughts carefully. Providing me with false information could lead to a very serious inconvenience for both of us. If I was murdered, he was out of a job. If he lied to me, I might have to kill him. This meant I was out a reliable informant, and those were so hard to come by these days.

"Yes." Cormac opened his eyes slowly. "Turns out he did. Said he was approached by some go betweener who said he represented Goldridge."

"Really." It hardly surprised me, after all his had been one of the names on the officer's book. Goldridge had plenty of time at our little meeting at the Music Hall to become acquainted with me. An accurate description of my attire and stature would have been easy for him to provide. Balling a fist, I fell deep into thought, and with that singular motion my company remained taciturn, waiting their further instructions.

What had Goldridge, the city treasurer, to gain by silencing me? Unless he had been convinced by Ruescher to initiate the hit. Remove the connection of threat, the thread leading back to Goldridge would make no sense. Of course, he would mention the fight with Ruescher to the police, that shred of news making a clear motive for me to have murdered Ruescher. Perhaps before Ruescher had died there had been a deal struck, a bargain for the service rendered, a political favor of some sort. It mattered not now. Goldridge had foolishly revealed his presence on the chessboard to me. It was time for me to reveal my hidden pawn.

"Once more, gentlemen, I am indebted to you for your vigilance at my behest." Unfolding my hands, I revealed a bulging silken purse and dropped it on the table before them. Their eyes brightened, but they did not rudely reach for it. They knew there was more to come. "I require a message passed along with the breaking of the dawn." I cast my eyes to the blade Cormac was still fingering. "With a suggestion to follow."

"Heh, return to sender." Cormac smiled viciously.

"Indeed, but by a more deserving method." I leaned back and smiled broadly. "Down at the Hudson dock yards there is a port master who also serves as the leader of the union. A rather boisterous soul named Murphy who has had in recent years some difficulty in appropriating funds from the city for the maintenance of his docks. The result of which has been several serious accidents due to ill-repairs. Listen carefully, gentlemen, for I have been privy to this secret for years now and I am certain that now is the time to let it slip to the right ears. Goldridge has been fixing the books for some time, embezzling city funds to supply his own demand for his own indulgence. Now, his favorite fund to garnish was from the waterfront funds. Several years back when Murphy requested the funds to replace the moorings on two of the docks, which consequently tore loose within six months causing a ship to capsize, he was informed from Goldridge that all funds had been used. That same year Goldridge hired the contractor for his second mansion, the one where he currently resides, on 5th avenue."

Silence followed my revelation before all three men broke out into devious laughter. Antonino shook his head. "Murphy isn't going to take that news lightly!"

Cormac held up the blade. "Thus, the suggestion. I get it. Goldridge won't draw a breath past breakfast!"

I brought my hands together before me. "Precisely. And not a thread tying back to me. The hounds will wrap up a neat little package and this whole interlude will be behind me."

Shuan bowed his head. "No one is aware of your knowledge?"

"None save you three in this room, to whom I have only now revealed this move." I supplied. "My source has long since departed from this world, of truly natural causes. After so many years there is no logic in looking my direction."

Antonino clapped his hands together, "Ingenious. Absolutely perfect. We whisper the tale and leave the blade for Murphy in a convenient spot for his rage to seize. Goldridge gets his just desserts from the angry mob that follows. Both you and Murphy are avenged in one move." Laughing he pointed at me. "I had heard never to play chess against you, now I see why."

"If you wish you may try." I remarked coldly. "Though not this eve. Are we quite clear on the events?"

They nodded in unison. By daybreak, the dock would be rife with words of Goldridge's crime. It would take no time at all for the flood waters to break and the union to march in outcry for the man's blood.

"Very well. Here is your advance." I waved a hand at the purse. "The rest comes when the newsprint reveals justice has been played out."

As if I had performed a magic trick, all three men vanished from the room as though they had never been there. With them also vanished the blade and the purse. For a long silent moment I stared into the flickering light of the lantern. Goldridge had less than a day to live, and likely he didn't have a clue.

Sufficient time had passed before I left the dark hall, abandoning it for the night blanketed streets of Hell's Kitchen in the Upper West Side. There had been no true need to wait as long as I had, the sinister streets were devoid of all souls. Approaching, Faust I mounted him with a will, whispering into his back turned ear. "We have a little side trip before we return home."

Faust tossed his head and waited for me to suggest which way to go. With my knee, I turned him to the northeast and started to let him cantor on through the streets towards my target, through the dark and deserted Central Park. Iron shod hooves struck the cobblestones as I eased back on Faust beside the squatting opulence of Goldridge's obscene mansion. There, amidst the lavish pompous mansions on 5th avenue, stood this councilman's idea of beauty. The facade was vulgar, completely over-adorned. The stonework itself had been so over-designed as to lose the pattern or any semblance of one. It was appalling. Clearly the idea had been to impress with complexity. The end result was a mass of untidy stone and no clear focal point. The entire block was taken up by his six story monstrosity.

So, this is what the city's misappropriated funds had produced. This over-extravagant blight on the scape of the city.

 _Enjoy your last night in a mortal bed._ I bid silently to his darkened window. _Come the morrow you will have made a graven bed to lie in._

Unable to bear the sight any longer without the desire to sully my hands overpowering my shallow will, I urged Faust to carry me along the streets to my home along the edges of Central Park.

As I handed Faust over to a blurry eyed Jacques, I was a little surprised to discover how awake I was. I was known for requiring a mere short sojourn into the realm of unconsciousness, but still. Normally, after carving a statue I was left creatively drained. This time I felt a surge of energy I could only attribute to the intercepted murder attempt.

I slid through the quiet halls of my mansion, contemplating the very real puzzle that lay before me. Christine had seen me kill. Granted, there had been just cause for me ending Ignazio's life as I had. Had I not, he undoubtedly would have slain me and quite possibly Christine as well, since she would have been a witness. Somehow I had to mend the damage that the sight must have created. It didn't surprise me when I found my feet had carried me to my desk. Absentmindedly my hands took up the pipe with its load of opium. I needed to think. I needed to be inspired to help me look past what had occurred.

So, to the rooftop I ascended. Beneath the starlight, I inhaled the sweet smoke reservedly, taking more care than before on the rate I was letting it enter me. All I desired was a little effect, I still needed to be able to concentrate. My instincts still broiled to complete the job myself this evening. To not wait out the sure turn of events on the morrow.

Casting my eyes to the stars, I let out a breath and watched the slow tendrils of dragon's breath twist in the breeze. My cloak was caught up in the gentle play and swirled about me. The scent of the smoke usually brought me such euphoria. Grimly, I looked back at the pipe. Tonight something about my habitual addiction bothered me. My utter dependence on this substance disgusted me. I loathed weakness. And yet here I was, bending to a need for this plant derivative to bring about apparent stability. Even as these thoughts drifted through my troubled mind, I knew I was trapped, I had no choice. The years had been too long since I had gone without. The calming effects of the sweet drug indeed assisted in helping me function, stabilizing my mood … when it worked. I shuddered as I recalled the horror of the past night when I had partaken too swiftly. It caused me to stare at the burning pipe anew in contemplation if I really desired to risk such a dark journey again.

Leaning against the balustrade on my rooftop, I sighed deeply. The wind carried the soft echo of a lamenting voice. It was wordless in its grief, soft and muted. As silent as a ghost I followed the beckoning sound past the depressing rows of my flowerless garden. Someone was hiding on the other side. As I came around the corner, I saw her framed in the moonlight. Huddled in her own light cloak, Christine leaned heavily against a row planter that held some of my most prized rose bushes. She was sobbing wearily into both hands, her lap drenched in her tears.

I wanted to run to her, to embrace her fully and chase all her fears away. But I remained riveted in place, my slackened jaw unwilling to speak. I could not embrace her, it was not my place to do so. And yet, I could not simply stand here staring dumbly at her like a mute. Nor could I turn from her obvious anguished tears and pretend I had not been witness.

"Christine?" I spoke softly, barely a whisper. "My dear, why do you cry so?"

She choked back a sob and looked up at me with a start. "No! It did not happen!" She cried out desperately, "Tell me I did not see that! Erik! Please, just tell me it was a horrid nightmare and I will believe you!"

My shoulders fell as my eyes shifted despairingly to the side. It had been hours since Ignazio's body had lain sightlessly before my feet. Hours later ... and before me now crumpled in a heap of near hysteria, lay Christine, desperate to cling to a hope that what she had seen had not been real.

I could not lie to her. Not even for the sake of her sanity.

"Christine, I only wish that were the truth." I did not dare take a step towards her, it was tasking enough to force my eyes to meet hers. "I am not a grand enough illusionist to alter those grim events."

Pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders, she wailed out, "He was breathing, then he was not … so fast … barely a blink! How did you know it wasn't just a passing stranger asking the time? How Erik?"

My left hand held the pipe, while my right entangled long fingers into the hem of my cashmere cloak. "It is hard to explain, my dear." I kept my voice level and controlled. Careful not to inflict the note that gave me power over another. My sole purpose was to try and calm her down, draw her out of that hysterical state she had worked herself into. "I just seem to know when hostile intentions are directed at me." Most of the time … my temper in the past had been known to see threats where none existed. Fortunately, this time my instincts had been correct.

"Oh God." She was rocking back and forth, still clinging to her cloak as though it could shield her from the chill of the world. "We'll all be killed."

I reached out my right hand towards her, taking a single tentative step. I could not suppress the urgency that invaded my tone. "I swear I would never do anything to harm you!"

Shaking her head, she buried her face once more in her hands. "It's not _your_ intentions I fear. There was no time for thought in that mindless reflex."

Placing the still burning pipe on the stone edge of the planter, I knelt down before her, wishing to all hell for the courage to reach out and embrace her. But my wish was not fulfilled. Tremulously, I hung back, leaving the void between us barren. "Do you understand," I began gently, "that the very man you grieve had no remorse in plunging that blade into my back and slaying me in cold blood? He would not have spared a moments thought for ending your life as well, to spare him the trouble of dealing with a witness to his crime. Christine, angel, if I had not reacted as I had we would both be dead. Think of Charles."

"I am!" She cried out, bloodshot eyes locking tightly on my own. In them burned a white hot emotion I could not identify. It was sufficient in intensity to force me to lean back onto my knees, to gain some distance. In her current state, I could not reach her by any normal means, but I could not leave her like this.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. I had to stop her downward spiral. Attaining my full height, I opened my eyes upon her frantically shaking form.

" _Christine_ ," The one word broke through, her small form stilled to that chilling effect I could produce through sound alone. " _My child, you must stop this senseless madness. It is unbecoming of you._ " It broke my heart to see how easily she succumbed to the power of my voice's more vile deception. I loathed that I had been placed in the position with no option but this controlling lure. Her bloodshot eyes slowly raised up to look sightlessly upon me. In that moment, I knew … she wasn't even there.

A hot tear escaped my eye and fled down my cheek beneath the mask. It wasn't fair. Why was I cursed with this ability? Thoughtlessly, my hand reached out and stole the pipe. I inhaled a lungful to quell the growing despair welling within me. As the wash of the effects hit me, I exhaled and witnessed my right hand flowing up to beckon her toward me.

Like a marionette, her limbs obeyed my orders. Drifting beside her, I drew her along with only the subtle motions of my hands. Down the stairs, through the hall, and at last into my study which lead to my room. A fluid gesture bade her lie down in the bed and cover herself up. Through the whole series of controlled motions, I never laid a single finger upon her.

" _Sleep, my child. Let the morning sun banish your fears to the darkness of night._ " I was crushed inside by the command I had given her, but it was for the best. She should not be tormented by the acts of a heartless criminal. Her form was so still now, so peaceful tucked beneath the covers. I hovered over her so close I could feel the heat rising from her body. Clawing at me viciously was the desire to climb right into my bed beside her and fulfill my every burning desire. In her current state she would never remember. The twist in my gut wrenched me back to my dismal reality before I gave in to the instincts.

Guiltily, I slunk to the door of my chambers to spy Charles lying on the couch, slumbering peacefully; a thought crossed my mind. By now his stitches should be secure enough. I glanced back through the doorway to Christine's sleeping figure, then once more to Charles. I made up my mind. Purposefully I made for the couch and gently coaxed the child's small form from beneath the comforter. Nadir must have given him a sleeping dose a bit ago, his body nestled in my arms only shifting slightly. Carrying my son across the room, I swung around the right side of the large bed and nestled him beside her, gently tucking him beneath the covers. Mother and son were reunited, resting securely side by side. Let her wake in the morning to this perfect dream, let his face be the first sight she sees.

It was a painfully precious sight. As I stood beside the bed, I saw no part in it for myself. Who was I to disrupt the peace and tranquility of their lives with the turbulence that perpetuated mine? I ghosted out of the room, closing the door behind me.

The couch now lay empty in the middle of my stud. It seemed to beckon me. Quite suddenly, I felt like a broken antique, weary and cast away from any place in this world. I flung myself down upon the cushions to stare up at the ceiling. There was no way I could rest, no way I could sleep.

Hours passed in silence as the oil lamps flickered low and went out one by one. Still I stared up at the gilded ceiling. Certainly I could have taken my remedy for my regular insomnia, but it was not sleep I sought. An old familiar feeling, icy and cruel, lingered within me. Fingers longed for the earned death of an individual who had wronged me and endangered those who mattered the most to me. I failed to suppress the base emotion, my willpower faltered under the slow surge through me in the growing darkness before dawn. The trap had been set, Goldridge was going to pay dearly for his crimes.

The first shafts of reddish light speared the darkness of my study, and with them the silence broke. Not with the morning song of birds, but the outraged cries of men. Slowly I stood up and walked across the floor to my balcony. From behind me on the cobblestone street the dockworkers and shipbuilders poured out like a flood along the edges of Central Park. At the head of them I saw Murphy holding high a familiar shining blade. The lynch mob of scorned workers surged on with a singular purpose, an all consuming goal. The shifting wind caught my cloak and tossed the ends high into the air behind me as I gazed down upon the instrument of destruction I had set into motion. The collective anger of men, by far the most unstoppable force. The mob's near endless length at last rounded the treeline of Central Park, having turned north onto 5th avenue. I could no longer see them, but the sound carried. An outrageous cacophony of furious screams and cries. Delicate Goldridge was never going to withstand this.

Inside me, I felt that familiar sensation seeping through my veins. The sluggish spread of venom searing through me like blood from an internal wound. Instead of growing weaker from the bleed, my strength increased ten-fold. A malevolent force surging, as the sinister smile I had banned from my features for so long released itself. I had forgotten what it felt like to hold so much power. Standing on my balcony, I was as powerful as the Persian shah. My orders had been delivered, and my dutiful servants would carry them out. A cold laugh escaped me, echoing out into the morning air, Goldridge had fallen out of favor.

Across the cobblestone street, a solitary figure in a tweed hat strolled nonchalantly along the walk before my house. As he passed the pillars that held up my balcony, I dropped a single black purse to his waiting palm. Cormac never altered his pace, simply continued on his way as though walking home. The task was as good as done. My three most trusted servants had delivered, there was no need to withhold their final payment for the headlines.

Once he vanished into the shadows, I cast one last glance toward the treeline which I knew concealed the mob before turning back inside. The pulse of power still flowed through me, and I felt drunk upon it. Gliding down the stairs I found myself driven to my music room.

Taking up the violin, I slid the bow across the strings playing with the most obscene and overwhelming sense of joy. Laughter erupted from deep within, a wild and untamed expression that no willpower on this earth could hope to suppress.

"Erik?" Nadir rubbed his blurry eyes as he stood in the doorway. "What are you doing?"

The bow drew forth an amusing cascade of notes as I replied in a sing song voice. "I feel wonderful! The statue!" I smiled. "Ohhh such a sweet and loving angel, the statue is complete and she shall be mine forever! For once, dear friend, the stars are aligning for me."

His hands dropped to his sides. "Erik? What have you been partaking of? You are … unusually … "

I paused, ceasing the musical torrent, I finished the sentence for him, " … jubilant. Why should I not be? Am I not allowed moments to be joyous? Or must I forever remain sullen?" I mocked him, teasing the bow before his eyes to cause them to cross as he attempted to track it.

Nadir closed his eyes, forcing them to uncross. "This is most … unusual. Normally when you finish a project you are morose with the loss of purpose. Erik, what has possessed you?" His voice bore suspicion.

I threw my head back and laughed. "What has possessed me? Oh, Daroga! What a remarkable sense of humor you have. So, indeed for me to be happy I must be possessed by a demon."

He took a step back, eyeing me. "Do not put words in my mouth. That is not what I was suggesting—" He paused, asking slowly, "Erik, why would such a thought occur to _you_?"

I shrugged. "By now you know my mind." Drawing the bow back up to the strings I spun away from him, the cloak swirling around me in great black folds. "Today is the beginning of a new day, Nadir. Why not celebrate the glorious dawn?"

I could not see his face, but I could hear his troubled breathing. I did not care.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter 15**_

For the fifth time this morning, I climbed down from a scaffolding. While I had been preoccupied in the rehearsals, my crew had managed to follow the plan precisely with minimal guidance from me. All that had remained was a final inspection of their quality work before the scaffolding could be removed. And it was timely, after all! Carnegie had planned one of his grand parties tomorrow night for the musicians and crew who had been involved in this triumph. By this afternoon, all the scaffolding should be removed and the final clean up from construction completed. It would leave ample time for the hall to be dressed in Carnegie's style. From the lingering construction crew to the gathering musicians, the hall was bustling with discussion of tomorrow's festivities. Everyone was excited for a chance to toast the success of this dream-become-reality. All save me. I was trying to conjure up a viable excuse to be absent.

Setting my foot back on the ground I nodded to Sam who waited eagerly to deliver my instructions across the site. Everything had been completed and exceeded expectation. I was not truly surprised, this was the workmanship of my hand picked crew. I could not speak for the other contractors' work. That was a matter I would be addressing with Tuthill when I caught up with him later.

"Sir? What shall I tell the foreman?" Sam asked as I stood in the main lobby, casting my eyes about the subtle details set within the arches.

"Tell him to instruct the crew to clear the site of their materials." I brought my hands together in finality. "The work meets my satisfaction."

The young boy smiled and tipped his hat to me. "I will do that, Sir. Right away!" All the eagerness of youth carried him off into the hall with his message.

I wandered into the main hall to the sound of Lloyd accompanying Kline. The pianist was of a quality I heard many times before. The notes were there, but overall there was something missing. The less savvy ear would not be able to discern what it was; a distinct lack in a nuance of passion. Even watching his motions on the keys and the mechanical sway of his body, there lay no room for doubt that he was simply playing the notes on the page before him. I felt pity for Kline, his voice was now tasked with the requirement of providing the emotional load in its entirety.

Whilst dwelling in the shadows of the balcony, I observed the benign features of the other three vocalists and wondered if they missed my fingers beckoning their accompaniment from the Steinway. Somehow it just did not sound the same. Morosely, I noticed that Christine was not among them. Hours ago I had left my home with her still sound asleep beside Charles. Cheek to cheek, they slept nestled sweetly together, I had not desired to roust them from slumber as I returned to my duties at the Music Hall. Prior to that revelation, after I had finished amusing myself on my violin, Nadir was nowhere to be found. That was in itself a little unusual. I half expected to find him snooping around behind me all morning like some demented bloodhound. And yet, hours had passed without his familiar shadow. With a sigh, I continued to pass through the building, unhindered.

At last the halls were being cleared of the scaffolding and tools that had been essential to creating her glory. Step by step the debris of her creation was eliminated to reveal her full beauty. The idle chit chat of the workmen began as mere background noise as I ran my hand along the railings, examining the dressed stonework with all the passionate caresses of a lover. As I lingered on the railing, a pair of journeymen passed behind.

"My cousin is employed at the docks, was there himself. Saw the whole thing! The seething mass of dockworkers led by Murphy right up to the treasurer's front door which broke into splinters. They drug him from his bed and out into the street. Said his feet never touched the cobblestones. The number of men who retrieved the blade from his body only to plunge it back in again was countless." His voice was edged with suspense as he kept his fellow worker engaged with the tale. "They say that Goldridge had long since died while the vengeful dock men continued to sheath the blade in him."

"Unbelievable!" Came the breathless reply. "What started it? I mean, they couldn't have been at the docks long if the sun had just broke the horizon, not long before he was killed."

"Turns out the treasurer's actions had caused Murphy's own son's death when the moorings couldn't be repaired years ago. Murphy had been told the funds were gone." He shook his head, "They weren't gone. Goldridge had stolen the money. Murphy's kid wasn't the only one to pay in blood for that politician's crime. The first five men to thrust the blade also lost kin."

Suppressing a chuckle, I mused at how fitting it had all been. Blood for blood, he likely had possessed sensation long enough to feel the stab wounds from the first five men. The ones beyond that, which continued to mutilate his body undoubtedly beyond recognition, he may have been fortunate enough not to have felt due to sheer blood loss.

"Shameful. Looks like that rat got what he deserved." They moved on around the corner, voices fading. But I knew they were not the only ones discussing this morning's activity. I could comfortably place a bet that word had traveled wide throughout the city from those who had been rudely woken by the violent screams in the morning air.

I meandered back towards the main auditorium, this time entering the wings to the sound of Lind rehearsing, where I found Tuthill looking at some of the plans. His lips engaged in silent mathematics as I drew up beside him.

"The figures are correct."

"Erik!" He nearly jumped out of his skin as he startled. "Don't do that!"

I laughed. "Then, do not provide me with the opportunity. What are you fretting over, Tuthill? My crew has entirely finished their contract and are currently clearing away their materials. The other crews are nearly complete, and I trust they will be done and cleared out before the festivities begin tomorrow."

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. "Are you certain there is sufficient support for the balconies at full capacity?" His eyes darted back to the numbers on the draft. My draft, I noted. "If there were a collapse … I cannot even imagine."

I let a broad smile grow as I placed a hand over the numbers on the page. "You know as well as I, when an architect drafts for building he must ensure that before a single stone is laid his calculations are exacting to the most extreme degree. My familiarity with grand theaters of course ensured the design would hold the capacity of a full house. Put it out of your mind." When he looked back down the drafts were gone, the makeshift desk before him was empty.

Tuthill's eyes searched the surface of the desk before he ducked down to look under it. "Where the … Erik … what did you do with them?"

I spread my empty hands wide asking innocently. "With what?" The drafts were safely secured inside my coat.

"The drafts!" He looked up at me incredulously, his voice likely disrupting the rehearsal on stage.

"Relax." I placed a hand on his shoulder. "They are where they belong. Now it might be wise to check on your other contractors, to be certain they are aware of Carnegie's plans for tomorrow night. We would not want to be dancing around scaffolding."

His eyes bore the shock of that image. "That would be intolerable!" With haste he left through the wing's door with a purpose.

"Do not forget to check on the dressing of the ceiling moldings." I called out after him. Fortunately, most of the building was complete. There were only a few areas where the other contractors had fallen short of meticulous attention. By now I knew Tuthill enough to have confidence that he would find those and the corrections would be made.

Drawn to the wing door by the music, I leaned against the jamb awash in the shadows the half closed door cast. The piano's notes were apathetic, Lind's voice was in stark contrast. Her voice shined with emotion as she poured forth her soul into her piece. Closing my eyes, I listened to the perfect pitch. It never faltered, never wavered. She had been listening when we had practiced.

"There you are!" A voice behind me growled.

I held up a hand to silence it. "Shhh, Nadir. You will interrupt them."

His footsteps came to a halt behind me, one foot continuing to tap impatiently. "No, Erik. We need to speak, immediately!"

"Keep your voice down." Opening my eyes I reluctantly turned to face him, I wanted to continue to listen to the rehearsal. But clearly that would not be permissible. "Have a little decorum, the space in here is acoustically live."

"How did you do it _this_ time, Erik?" Nadir's voice hovered just above a tense whisper. If he wasn't careful it would carry out into the performance space.

"Do what?" I snapped back in a hushed tone. "I remind you that for all my skills I have never been a mind reader."

He narrowed his eyes up at me. "You begged me to give you a chance to show that you were capable of controlling yourself. You swore to me that you wouldn't kill for pleasure again. And yet just this morning, Goldridge was slaughtered. Dragged out of his bed by a mob!"

With a shrug of my shoulders I inquired. "And where was I in this little mob? Do you see any blood stains on my attire?" I turned for him, spreading out my coat's edges to reveal that all it bore was the dusty evidence from my stone working. Purposely, I had not changed. My clothing was my alibi. After all, one could not simply make a blood stain vanish from cloth.

Eyes frantic with suspicion stole over every thread of my fabrics, searching for a sign. When they found none, he locked his steely gaze back to my eyes accusingly. "Three, Erik. Three of the five investors are dead! You may not have been there, but I know you had something to do with it!" By now he was losing control of his voice, the volume beginning to rise with his anxiety and anger.

"Nadir." It took effort for me to bite back my own instinct to shout back at him. I kept my voice just above a hushed whisper, though the intensity was undeniably creeping in. "You are leaping to some ludicrously wild conclusions. Step back and think about it."

He glared at me, raising an accusing finger. "I know what I saw this morning! I know what grips you after the rush of a successful execution! All those deaths in Persia, how would I not recognize that same manic state that always gripped you afterward. I now can say I quite believe you had truly done nothing to compromise the health of Chantelli and Ruescher. Following their deaths you were almost passive." He waved a finger before me. "Not like this time! This morning I once more saw what cannot be denied, the violin accompanied by that maniacal laughter I prayed to Allah I would never hear infest you again. Somehow, you triggered that man's death! Why? And how! I demand to know!"

I scowled down at the Persian, not even beginning to try and cover my contempt for this confrontation. The music had stopped behind us. Whether Lloyd had reached the end of Lind's song or our voices had caused a disruption I could not discern. For now I fought very hard to keep my voice level and quiet. "That is a very obscure question, Nadir. Here and now is not the place to be asking it. There is no known reason for there to be any quarrel between Goldridge and myself. At the only meeting we attended, the secondary investors were all but shut out when they demonstrated the true nature of their interest in the Music Hall. By the end of that meeting the decision of who would perform lay strictly with me. It would appear I have nothing to gain by the loss of Goldridge. Just another untimely stabbing in the streets of Manhattan. Now go home!" I pointed stiffly to the stage door before my hand closed into a fist.

"I did not say he had been stabbed." He shook his head shrewdly. "You know something!"

I rolled my eyes. "You honestly think no one is speaking of it? Every hall one walks down there is gossip of the murder with every graphic detail imaginable. The whole of Manhattan will know Goldridge was stabbed long before the first newspaper has been distributed. Yet, you will condemn me on that little shred of knowledge alone? You are being foolish! More so than usual. What is wrong with you?"

"Me? What's wrong with me?" Nadir flung his arms wide. "Erik, what the hell is wrong with _you_? If you believe for a moment that I would not recognize the celebration I saw hours ago, you are more delusional than I first thought!"

My jaw locked, dangerous waters were being entered now. My friend better watch his tongue lest he lose it! My fists tightened as I hastily bridled the fury that would end in regret if I was unsuccessful. The words were clipped off by my terse tone. "This is not the time. This is not the place."

"Just tell me why!" He demanded.

My icy voice growled out. "For the last time, Daroga, go home! I will not be tried and convicted in such a reckless fashion." Through locked teeth I added, "This is the final time I shall _ask_ you to leave!"

"Or what?" Nadir snapped back. "You'll make me vanish as well?" He shook his head roughly. "This discussion is not over. The moment you set foot in your home tonight we shall speak of this. I will accept no excuses! None!"

I watched his back as every stiffened step he took carried him out the door. The slow burning inside of that betrayal of trust invaded every fiber of my being. Was it because he had leapt so swiftly to that conclusion that it troubled me so? Or was it the harsh reality that his instincts this time were acutely correct?

The rustle of fabric around the stage wing caught my attention. Someone was approaching the solid barrier that closed off the backstage area. Fleetly, I withdrew deeper into the shadows. I had no desire to be seen right now. Silently, I stole out past the dressing rooms.

Entering the halls, I began to storm through them aimlessly. What a horrendously unfortunate turn of events. Time was drawing ever closer to the opening night. Tomorrow night Carnegie would be throwing one of his parties and I did not have an adequate excuse for not attending. Had even a portion of that conversation been overheard by the performers, the atmosphere could become increasingly turbulent.

As I rounded the corner of the hall I nearly bumped into the petite figure of a distracted young woman. At the last moment she turned her head, looking over her shoulder to realize she was not alone. A realization that startled her to the extreme of taking several hasty steps backward. I placed her immediately, young Mademoiselle Duchene. The last I had seen of her was the day the final cuts were made. When we had parted ways she had her eyes on excelling on the stage under the instruction of a new tutor. As she looked upon me now, it was with an expression of overwhelming apprehension. I could only assume my currently foul temper was apparent. Without a word, she stepped to the side out of my pathway and hastily proceeded on her way. A few steps beyond me and I heard her break into a run.

I heaved a sigh. Her reaction, whatever its cause, certainly had not helped my mood. What was it with people today? A lynch mob processes through town and suddenly everyone is casting suspicious glances? I wandered on aimlessly around the corner from which she had come.

The door opened just after I had passed by. "Precisely who I was looking for." Carnegie's stern voice caused me to turn on my heel. "Erik, please come inside."

Something about his tense frame and humorless tone caught my attention. It wasn't what he said, it was how he moved to always keep his eyes on me as I silently passed into the room that served as his office. How, even as he shut the door and rounded the desk, his steely gaze never left me.

"Sit down." He gestured, the tone of his voice rigidly controlled. "This might take a while. In fact, I am fairly certain it will."

In an equally controlled tone I inquired. "Is there a problem?"

His eyes studied me unnervingly, boring into mine as if checking off some mental list. "The only one who can answer that question is you." Leaning back in his chair, he rested his cheek against one finger. "I have been kind enough not to have pried into your past, as you have requested of me. Suffice it to say, Erik, you have proven your worth and promise to the project ten-fold. However, there is undoubtedly something in your past you do not wish brought to light."

I forced myself to be composed, suddenly wary that I did not wish to be under his scrutiny. "There are few men who live a life without at least a moment's regret." I replied dismissively.

He nodded slowly, his eyes still searching, almost piercing. What was he trying to see? "I would be naïve to deny that fact. No one particularly enjoys those moments being acknowledged. But there are times when there is no choice." Carnegie paused for a moment. I chose to remain silent, unaware of where he was going with this inquiry. Why should I tip him off to anything he may not even suspect? At last he continued. "From the moment we first crossed paths, I knew you to be a man of unusual nature. There was an air about you, something I could not place. It was clear you were steeped in the arts. Very clear you were accustomed to your commands being carried out. Even through your mask I could discern that whatever you set your sights upon, it would be brought to light no matter the cost." His eyes narrowed. "And now I sit here wondering just how high a cost you might demand. Perhaps the man I thought I knew is covering the facade of someone far more uncompromising than I had first suspected."

I leaned back in the chair, gripping the arm of it in what I intended to be a relaxed posture. Inside, my pulse was quickening. I became aware of my internal music shifting and becoming more frantic. I had to remain composed, calm, nonchalant. This was nothing, just a mere misunderstanding. I had to be certain that Carnegie would not take this temple of music away from me. The timing could have been better. After all, I only now realized two nights had passed since I had even attempted to sleep. Nonchalant, I let the word take over my whole form as I replied, "Carnegie, you have come to know me better than most. As it turns out, in many ways we are kindred in our approach to business are we not? Both of us have rise from penury to build empires."

"Indeed." He cleared his throat. "That much is undeniably true."

I stretched out my hand toward him. "Piece by piece we strived to purchase strongholds in the areas that allow us to control the industry that is our goal. As we rise to accomplish that goal, we pass along the surplus, aiding others to accomplish their own ambitions. Connections flourish into empires that in time allow us the ability to access information and resources with limitless purposes. If you tell me you do not know who I am; then I tell you, you do not know yourself."

The stillness of a statue greeted me. Somehow, as I watched him observing me, I felt like it was not his desk between us, but a chess board. He was playing a game with me, trying to trick me into betraying a next move. However, he lacked my patience in this matter. "If what I had just heard before you entered this room is correct, than I desire never to hear that comparison again. There are a few matters I must draw to your attention, Erik. The first of which is that initially there were five investors for the opening nights of the Music Hall. Five investors that you spent an inordinate amount of time bending my ear on how unnecessary they were. With three of them now deceased, the last two out of fear have withdrawn their support this morning. Previously you spent no effort in masking your disapproval."

Something about his word choice made me shudder. Outwardly, I only shrugged. "In the final turn it was your summons that brought me to the meeting to end their involvement. Had you not written me, I should have liked to remain in my residence tending the wounds of Madame Daae's son."

There was a flick of his eye, a mental tick on that list. "Yes, which brings us to another matter. Madame Daae. It has escaped the attentions of no one around this establishment that the French singer has quite an astonishing attachment to you."

"I already mentioned when we spoke previously that we had been acquainted in Paris." I remarked blandly.

There was another tick. What was he looking for? I was suddenly pondering if I should be wiser to shut my mouth entirely.

"Her vocal instructor, so you said … the one who aided in her rising from the chorus to taking center stage." He scratched his white beard with a finger.

I laughed, my ego got away from me for a moment. "Of course, when I heard what a beautiful instrument she naturally possessed there was no way I could deny the world the power of her stunning voice. She had merely lacked the heart, the passion. All she needed was inspiration."

"An Angel of Music." Carnegie continued.

"Exactly." Wait … how did he hear that? But it was too late, I had already spoken.

"Like the statue in the upper lobby that bears her features."

Why was this such an interest to him? So the vocalists had seen the statue and recognized Christine's face in it. I had used her as inspiration, it's not like we didn't know one another. I waved a dismissive hand. "So you have seen my tribute to music. Of course I had used her features. Christine was my finest student. Is it really so unusual to wish to preserve the memory in stone of a great accomplishment? After all, we have done precisely that here."

Bringing his hands up, he clasped them together while resting his elbows on the desk before him. "I believe that one of us has done that to a greater extent than the other. That one of us may be living more in the past … and that is what now worries me—gravely." He locked eyes on my mask. "For if what you say is true, and you _are_ the man who unlocked the spirit of Christine Daae's voice, it also means you are the man who stole her from the stage the night it was gutted by a raging fire. The infamous Phantom of the Opera."

My fingers white-knuckled the chair arm, I could hardly swallow. He had walked me straight through, damn near to the full confession. The minutes ticked away between us.

At last he broke the unbearable silence. "Will you dignify yourself with a spoken response? Or is the silence all the more I am going to receive?" As I remained stunned, he nodded. "Let me add to my assessment before you even attempt to convince me otherwise. Sources who have come from that very country tell that the voice of that ghost who haunted the Paris Opera was astonishingly beautiful. Of an almost heavenly quality. The man behind it was skilled in many arts, thus leading to the conclusion that he must have been a magician of great accomplishment, known for throwing that remarkable voice of his. The details go on to tell of the unusual disappearances of Christine Daae, to take lessons and instruction from her teacher. Time and apparent ego had revealed to the management, whom he was ruthlessly controlling, that this instructor was the Phantom himself. His greatest desire was to advance the career of young Daae through any means necessary. Her final vanishing act included the horrendous cascade of the chandelier that burned the interior of the theater on a full house night. And of course, the most undeniable aspect, is the rumor that on the occasions he was glimpsed, this Phantom wore a white mask to hide his face. If the tales of what lies beneath are close to true, then I now fully understand the words you spoke to me after your overindulgence."

I couldn't find my voice. I didn't even try to open my mouth. My eyes stared off sightlessly as the torrential downpour of that distant past crashed down upon me. What point would there be in denying it? Carnegie was no fool, he had too many details. I felt my head lower ever so slightly against my will.

Carnegie stood up from behind the desk, looming over me. "Erik, I will have an answer from you."

Instinctively my hand inched back slowly, searching for the edge of my cloak, the hidden pocket with my cord. My fingers found only open air, my cloak was downstairs where I had left it when I first arrived this morning. To reach it would require a feat of impossible speed should Carnegie have any plans to apprehend me. With dread, a second scenario hit me. What if the police were right now searching my cloak and holding that incriminating evidence of my past. What if they were outside the door right now waiting for a signal from Carnegie to come in and drag me off overseas to be tried for the crimes I had fled. Casting my eyes towards the shut door, I uttered, "Only if you swear to me that my words never leave this room."

He folded his arms across his chest. "That depends on how truthful you are with me."

"Truth." I spat out the word, finding a little courage as I spied an angle to exploit. "What is truth to a businessman after all. If ever I have an issue with something as nagging as the truth, should I not just inquire with your dear friend Henry Frick?"

I had shifted my cold eyes back to his at the exact right moment to catch his subconscious start at the mention of one of his business partners. It was his turn to be dashed into silence. My turn to make a few moves on the chessboard.

"Fantastic little dancing he orchestrated in two years ago." I brought my hands together clapping slowly. "Amazing job of covering up all the mess with the Johnstown flood. And oh, how the fishing and hunting club was kind enough to make donations of buildings after the ensuing flood from that ill-repaired dam."

I had his attention. Though he was not directly responsible for the actions, Carnegie was a member of that club of millionaires. When the club acquired the dam in 1881, they had made alterations to it for the creation of their secret little getaway. Leak after leak was merely patched, the dam's height had been lowered to widen the road for carriages to comfortably pass, compromising the strength greatly. And soon enough Frick's private club found itself trying to avoid being sued for the worst flood of the 19th century. All that had prevented the club from being held responsible was the declaration that the dam had broken by an Act of God. It wasn't an Act of God, and should undeniable proof surface, Frick and company would find themselves in a horrendous public relations battle.

He took a step towards me. "I donated a new library to that town after the flood. Many of the members of the club also contributed to rebuilding the community."

"Which is wonderful." I nodded darkly. "However, looking back in time I am certain that the citizens that lost thousands of loved ones would have preferred that the club had simply maintained the integrity of the dam in the first place. Perhaps by having replaced the discharge pipes that had been removed and sold for their scrap iron. Or simply the concerns voiced about its safety been acknowledged instead of repeatedly ignored. T'would be a shame if a few architectural sketches turned up that proved it was not God after all, but the negligence of men."

"Erik." He eyed me stonily. "That matter has been resolved. Frick is a very busy man."

I smiled knowingly back, the chess game was sliding along well. Check, my friend! "I know. Invaluable to your steel enterprise. If he were tied back up in the courts, dealing with the information of those distant telegrams, there is simply no telling what would happen to your business. And not just him. After all the roster of club members spreads throughout … "

"You wouldn't dare." He observed me sternly.

I spread my arms wide. "That depends … on you." Climbing to my feet, I faced him from across the desk, man to man. We had each other in check, each held the other's king as forfeit. "Here we are, Carnegie. Each bearing a vast shadow in the past we do not wish revealed. Yours may be by association, but the consequences would be terribly inconvenient should they come to light. Picture this, there are 2,804 seats in the Music Hall's main auditorium. The flood's victims would fall short of filling those seats by only a scant hundred. Was not the final death toll around 2,200? You know what you risk now, by demanding of me knowledge of a past I have fought to bury."

The color was draining from his face at the vision I described. How would he ever get that out of his mind as he stared at a packed house from this night forward? "You admit it is true."

I stood up straight and placed a hand to the ruffle of my shirt. "That I was the Phantom of the Opera?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "Yes, for a sad point of time in my life I was that reclusive fool playing a childish game of shadows and puppetry. The Paris Opera house I built had become my kingdom of shadows, the company my unwilling subjects. But I assure you, Christine was never my prisoner. Just as now, it is her will to be in my company."

After a moment, he cocked his head. "The reason for the mask … is that also true as well?"

I stiffened and saw him draw back slightly as he realized it may have been an unwise query. "Yes." My reply was no more than a tense whisper. "From birth as much beauty as my voice bears is the degree to which my face reflects hideousness."

The words took a long moment of awkward silence to sink in before Carnegie's heartfelt reply, "I am truly sorry, Erik."

"I loath pity." I replied sternly. "Do not pity me now that you are aware of the bitter truth. Nothing that can be done or said will ever change the reality. Time after time, I have strived to find a way to exist as either a part of the human race or apart from it. And time and again my plans are thwarted by some gut reaction." I sat back down in the chair, falling prey to weariness born of frustration. "It matters not how many talents I have mastered nor how fantastically I showcase them for the world. Always, at some long last, someone has to decree that I must be locked away like some monster!" In the silence that followed, a line stuck in my head that he had said … _sources who have come from that very country_. Duchene! She had passed me on the way in, the look on her face had been more than a simple startle. That had been terror. Lowering my head, I growled, "Before the unsightly manhunt occurs, I will leave. It will be a shame never to see the opening nights of this hall. But I will not let her be tarnished by this unfortunate uncovering of the past. Just promise me you will never confirm the truth of my past."

Carnegie came around the desk and stood before me, looking down sternly as I met his gaze. "And let you walk off with the means to collapse my empire? Never, Erik." He paused in thought for a long moment. "A wise man keeps those who hold power over him close so he can keep a better eye on them. Besides, I have a feeling that there is a reason fate has once more aligned you with a great musical stage. No. You will not leave, and if you do vanish, it will be at the risk that your identity may be revealed. I suspect that many may quite readily leap to blaming you for the deaths of the investors."

I glared at him in protest. "That is a rather unfair advantage. I did not lay a finger on any one of them."

"Exactly, so let's not even allow the public to consider such a possibility. So, the deal is this. You will stay and perform on the stage as though nothing has transpired. There will be no more discussion of Frick and the Johnstown flood. I will not acknowledge any rumors of your past and deflect them when essential." He held out a hand to seal the pact. "I will not have an amazing talent such as yours chased off by a series of bad decisions in the distant past."

"It has only been ten years." I shrugged. His hand remained stubbornly extended, waiting for me to grasp it. "So it is to be that we shall protect each-others reputations. Than, grant me this little dream, Carnegie. I know that your empire is vast and you will move along to grander things and dreams after the concerts are complete. You are aware that I have invested more then just time and money in this hall. Grant me a position of influence over this Music Hall and I will protect the vision for the remainder of my days. Have no trepidations, I will share the task readily with Damrosch." I stood and extended my hand. It was now his turn to reach out for mine.

"Done!"

Our hands closed in a warm grip and shook.

"The contract will be written and ready to be signed before the festivities tomorrow night. Damrosch will be fine with it. He had already suggested such an arrangement. I merely had not had the opportunity to ask you." Standing once more behind the desk, he shook his head and began to laugh. "Unbelievable."

"What?" I inquired curiously.

"Of course someone who had gone to the lengths of becoming the Opera Ghost would be consumed with a passion for creating another music hall." He lifted a hand to me. "What better soul to leave as her protector than a man who had previously foregone a normal life for his utter devotion to music. You were right from the very start, Erik. This project would not be the same without you."

I was perplexed. His thought process was logical enough, after all, my passion aligned with an obsession for creating and collecting beauty. That was what he saw, or at the least what he chose to see. The bitter motive behind that dark past lie more in an escape from the cruel stings of humanity. I had chosen to live beneath my opera house as a recluse driven by the brutality of the revolution in the streets of Paris. Once settled into my lair, I had continued to allow myself to sink into the darkness of solitude. I only became the ghost as a matter of essential income to pay a loyal servant for the purchases I required of my indulgent lifestyle. Had I a choice of viewing the past, I would have preferred his more aesthetically pleasing one. One question still bothered me. "Why did you trust me? It does not make sense for you only to question my origins now. Why not before when I clearly disdained your queries?"

"It had never entered my mind that you could have been that specter." Carnegie shrugged before seating himself again. "I could never completely put my finger on what it was that assured me you were right for this hall. Since you inquire, I should say the most obvious of many reasons that drew my attention was that you were a proven survivor. I had assumed ages ago that your mask hid something. The fact that you have accomplished as much as you have despite that is beyond remarkable. The result of such a constant trial is your unyielding ambition. It is a shame you don't have an interest in the steel industry. I could use more men like you."

I shook my head. "I have little use for cold metal. It lacks the heart of stone. The furthest I shall come to that industry is my investment in the railroad for the movement of essential materials. My place is here, where the music lives."

"So it shall be." Carnegie replied. "With you and Damrosch to watch over her growth, there is no doubt this hall shall reach the heights we all dreamed about."

I was hesitant to ask, "Damrosch does not know about Paris, does he?"

"I do not think so. I only just learned moments before you passed by."

That told me my suspicion of the source was right, I sighed. "Please do not tell him. If ever he is to learn, it should be from me."

He held a hand over his heart. "As I promised before, I shall deflect such rumors should they reach me. Your secret is safe with me, Erik. Just protect my dream."

"With every ounce of my being." I bowed before leaving his office.

* * *

Elevation often aids in the lifting of ones spirits. When my thoughts became muddled, I often resorted to retreating to some space where I might look down upon the world. This altered god-like perspective frequently leant me the angle to see circumstances more clearly. Short of climbing to the roof, a destination that back in Paris had led me to a discovery that set me on the path of ultimate disaster, I had found that the highest row of seats in the upper most balcony afforded one the most captivating view of the entire auditorium. The stage was stories below me. From this far up the grand piano was a mere toy surrounded by ants. Their voices carried up to me from so far away, the waves of sound guided to my ears by the architectural genius of this hall. Annitolli's voice never sounded better as he finished his piece. Since the hall was strictly in use for rehearsals, the lights were largely left off to keep the heat from building up inside. This meant, that in my lofty solitude, I was completely shrouded in darkness. For over an hour I had lingered in shiftless silence. If they had noticed me enter, which was doubtful, they had by now long forgotten about my presence. It also meant that the singers and the pianist spoke with utter abandon as though no one was listening. Duchene's little figure huddled between Lind and La Mareesa.

"Don't be silly." Annitolli remarked as he came around the piano to the others. "It has to be pure coincidence."

"It isn't, I tell you!" Duchene's panic was amplified by the walls.

"Hush, my dear." Lind tried to sooth her. "There's no need for all this fuss. You told Mr. Carnegie, right? Let him handle it."

Annitolli laughed. "Told him what? Some story from over seas? Tell me, did you ever actually glimpse the so called Opera Ghost yourself?"

"Well … no … " replied Duchene timidly. "But my mother and father regularly attended the theater. They were there that night." Her voice trembled as she cast her eyes to the ceiling. "The night the chandelier fell and burned the Opera House. He was seen dressed as Mephistopheles when he dashed out of nowhere and stole Christine Daae from the stage. The mask, the white mask that hid his identity was clearly visible to them from among the flames. It wasn't the first he had glimpsed. Everywhere there were tales, especially from the performers there. Even the management was petrified of the Phantom."

I heaved a very quiet sigh. So this is where her knowledge came from. The collective tales of parents coming home from a night at the opera hall. I could hope that it would come across as being beyond the grasp of credibility. This was one time where I actually wished for someone to over-embroider the story.

Annitolli's laughter only increased. "So, we are to believe a second accounting purely based on what you have been told? That the very man who accompanied us for almost two weeks is the murderous madman who haunted the Paris Opera?"

"Wait a moment, Annitolli." La Mareesa approached his more substantial figure. "There's no denying that there is some history between our odd accompanist and Madame Daae."

"What?" Lloyd lifted his head from behind the piano.

"Not you. I mean Erik, the previous one. We all heard it when he sang with her that one time at rehearsal."

"And every time he offered her a critique," added Kline. "There was something more … invested in how he approached her than any of us."

I cursed myself in silence for having left things so blatantly obvious to them. Why had I neglected to consider the depth of suspicious perceptions those involved in the arts held. Of course they would be capable of seeing through such an act.

La Mareesa continued. "And the statue. One look at the facial features and it cannot be doubted who he was thinking of when he carved that angel. That was her."

"The two know each other" Annitolli replied. "Does that automatically make the only possibility of who he was a reclusive monster?"

If it wasn't for the fact that he was speaking out in my defense I should like to wrap my cord around his neck.

"What about the thrown voice the other night?" Duchene looked to Lind. "You all heard it, right? It came from behind you down the stairs but he was still carving above you. He did that, the Opera Ghost! The dancers spoke of it all the time. The strange whispers that came disembodied. And not just that, he changed the voice of a singer one night! La Carlotta, she was the prima donna he openly loathed. The very soprano he pushed out of the limelight so that Christine Daae could take it. I'm telling you, Erik is the Phantom of the Opera. And now he is here!"

Lind embraced her. "You're shaking like a leaf. Calm yourself."

"You're all in danger! He could kill us all with a snap of his skeletal fingers!"

For a moment I considered issuing a quick snap of my fingers, to the point of raising my hand and sliding them soundlessly across each other. No, the idea was for them _not_ to have confirmation of that rumor. What use would such a trick do for me in that respect now? Instead I maintained my stony silence.

"Duchene." Kline came up behind her. "If all this is indeed true, why hasn't any harm befallen us? As much as I suspect there is something unusual about Monsieur Erik, I am not convinced that there is enough evidence for us to be publicly shunning him."

"No harm?" Duchene pried herself from Lind's arms. "Do you not remember when we all fell ill after La Serenissima upset him at the rehearsal?"

There was a long silence stretching out on the stage. That is right, Damrosch had told me the entire selection of vocalists had grown violently ill at the time I had been tending Charles. I had nothing to do with their ailment. I can only assume it had been a case of something they had consumed, it was no secret the group had taken to eating together each night.

Annitolli sighed. "So, he is at fault for everything that goes wrong around here? Duchene, you best be careful, child. If you are right and he does learn of who exposed the truth, there may be a very dire price for your tongue wagging."

Even from here I could see her swoon before her body toppled to the floor. She was fortunate enough that Kline caught her and gently laid her down. "She's alright. And for her sake, I do hope that Erik never hears of her words."

 _Oh, but I have._ Every word, and up in my solitary perch I was beginning to listen to the voice inside me that longed to the silence those on stage. My hands tightened into fists on the arm rests before me, forcefully holding my form at bay from seeking vengeance for the accusations.

"She went to Carnegie." Lind's voice was tinged with a little fear. "What do you think he will do with that information? Do you think he'll accuse Erik?"

Annitolli shook his head. "Carnegie will do what he thinks is right. When it comes to business, there are few shrewder than Carnegie. His actions will indeed let us know how much validity there is in this fairy tale."

"Sage advice," Lind agreed. "Tomorrow is the pre-opening festivities. Undoubtedly Erik will be there."

La Mareesa chimed in, "By simple observation we should know what Carnegie's conclusion is."

Kline stood up as Duchene began to stir beside him. "And if Erik isn't in attendance, we will also have our answer, won't we."

I rolled my eyes. So much for not attending tomorrow. This over-imaginative group had forced my hand for the sake of my identity.

Duchene's meek voice called out. "I am in need of some air, Kline would you be a dear and help me?"

Always the gentlemen, Kline reached down and let her use him to stand. While she leaned heavily against him, the whole crowd drifted out the stage door.

Abandoned in the silence, I brooded in my lofty domain. At least I knew their suspicions were but lying in rumor now. They did not know they held more than a thread of truth. At the celebration tomorrow night, Carnegie would be presenting Damrosch with his music hall. What would be even more amusing is that I was aware of one more name included in that presentation. Indeed, I would be there. And I would be publicly recognized. Let them see. I smiled to myself, let them see that Carnegie accepted me. Not just to build his dream, but to protect its future. What would that tell this little group?

Silently I left the balcony and began the long descent down the stairs to the main lobby where I retrieved my cloak. No one had disturbed it from where I had flung it this morning. As I approached the outer door, I heard a rumble of thunder announcing a storm. Rain poured down gently from leaden clouds that hung low in the sky. A bright flash of lightening welcomed me to the streets and my walk home over the soggy cobblestones. The gathering storm meant the streets were virtually deserted. In the two short blocks to my front door, my cloak had acquired quite a good deal of moisture.

Relieved to get in out of the rain, I hung my cloak up to dry on the hook by the door before stealing soundlessly into my music room. With my violin and the score to _Forbidden_ in hand, I made my way up to my study where I shut the door firmly without Nadir being the wiser. I had no interest in conversing with him this eve. Time was drawing very short for me to perfect this piece of music I would be preforming in three days time. Circumstances were leaving me with very little time to rehearse myself. Even now I wasn't in the right frame of mind, but I had to seize this moment. I laid the score on the piano.

My bow had scarcely touched the strings before my bedroom door opened and Christine came out into the study behind me.

"I apologize for not coming to the Music Hall today, Erik." Her voice was reserved, almost cautious. "Charles needed me to help him with a project here."

Withdrawing the bow, I slowly turned to face her. "He must be nearly healed enough by now for some lighter activity."

Her fingers strayed to a wilting rose in a vase. "That was my assumption, after all he had been moved to the bed at some point last night. You would not have done that were he not stable enough." She smiled sincerely to me. "Thank you, it was a pleasant surprise waking to find him beside me."

"You are welcome." I discovered my fingers had continued to form the chords on the neck of the violin even without my concentration. "It was the least I could do."

Drifting across the room she came to rest beside the piano, leaning against the side as she inquired softly. "Did I miss anything important at the hall today?"

Ceasing their wanderings, my fingers stilled on the violin as I brought it down to my side. Morosely I replied, "Nothing much, only my secret suddenly becoming the talk of the entire hall."

Her eyes widened. "Your secret? You mean about Paris?"

I nodded firmly. "Oh yes, it seems Duchene had Parisian parents with a taste for culture. Though she never saw me, her parents did. She knew practically everything, even about the management letters."

Taking a step closer to me, she shook her head. "Erik, they aren't accusing you are they?"

"More or less." I sighed, laying down the violin on the piano. "They are watching to see how Carnegie treats me after the apparent revelation. I had thought I would be able to leave that past behind me indefinitely. But here I am, once more at a crossroad where my choices are limited. The most logical being to run and hide before I am paraded back to Paris to hang for my crimes."

"No." She said with a force of conviction that surprised me. "No, that will not happen. They have no proof. It is only mere coincidence, and that won't hold up enough for them to take you. Besides, they would have to apprehend you. You would get away, Erik. I know you would."

A bitter smile crossed my face before I looked away from her. "I have no intention of letting it happen. The details of the past simply came at a very inopportune time. These next days are going to be even more trying to navigate than before I was suspected to be some demented monster." I spat out.

"You are not a demented monster." Once more she took steps towards me, only the corner of the grand piano separated us now. "You are a man of extraordinary skill and passion. Erik, there is nothing you cannot do."

Casting my eyes to the ceiling, I almost laughed in my despair. "Why the hell do people keep saying that of me? It is far from the truth, Christine. And you know it. Shall I stand on the stage opening night with my face bared? That would be a fantastic spectacle."

"That's not what I mean … " She covered hastily.

I held up a finger. "But it counts among something to do, does it not? Something practically every man does on a daily basis without thinking, without contemplation." Turning to the door of my balcony, I opened it to the sound of the rain. Leaning against the door frame, I called out bitterly over my shoulder. "I have been told I am the heart of that Music Hall … and yet, the world will never lay eyes upon the face of the man who holds that claim. Once more my curse holds me apart from humanity."

"It doesn't have to." Her voice was trying to be a balm, trying to reassure me. "Look what you have done. Has the mask really held you back that much?"

A flash of lightening stole across the sky followed by a peal of thunder as I hung my head. From my truest desire it had been an insurmountable barrier. After all, had it not been for my deformity, I was certain the events of that horrid night back in Paris never would have occurred. "You can only imagine what it is like to always be charged with maintaining a facade. All my life it has been a constant game of trying to hold back the world from its desire to exterminate anything abnormal. While I certainly find chess amusing with the challenge of a good partner, the endless rounds with less worthy opponents becomes wearisome. The stream of those threats is near constant, even now; and I can never rest. I want to, I would like to know for once what it is like to be able to let my guard fully down like other men do. To be able to sleep without concern that in the night some assassin will not be lying in wait. Now do you see clearly? This mask—no, it is the face beneath it that holds me apart from many things in this world. It always has and it always will."

The rain pelted the stonework before me, striking every surface of the world and permeating into every crevice. Reminiscent of the recent events, I loathed the irony of this gathering storm. If only it was a simple spring rain washing the world clean. Why did it have to be a rising destructive gale?

"Mother!" Through the door from my room came the fearful voice of the child. Charles called out repeatedly not even giving Christine a chance to respond.

"Coming, Angel."

I turned from the window in time to see her almost running for the door. "Hush, now Charles. It's only a storm. You're safe within these strong walls. Nothing will harm you."

Closing the balcony door, I latched it before softly crossing the floor to the doorway of my chambers. She sat upon my bed with the young boy grasped tightly to her. His white-knuckled fists held the fabric of her dress as she rocked him softly back and forth. Charles had his eyes shut from the world. "Mother, why is it so loud?"

Gently she stroked his hair and kissed him. "It's alright, Sweetheart. We are safe here. We will always be safe here."

Was she so sure? Does she remember last night? No of course not. Not after I had entranced her, after I had forced her to forget.

"I'm scared, make it stop!" He cried out to her, trembling.

"Charles." I leant my voice all the tenderness I knew how to use. The boy was truly frightened, belittling his fears would do him no good now. "Remember when we spoke of fears before, you and I? Remember what I told you about overcoming them?"

"I don't understand." His voice trembled as he answered me.

Taking a few steps into the room I grabbed a candle and began to light a few more lamps about the room. More light would lessen the contrasting flare of nature's fury. "Would you like to understand?"

Tears stained Christine's dress as he sobbed before tentatively replying, "I don't want to be afraid, Erik! But I can't help it!"

I held up a hand. "Give me a moment, I need to fetch something from my study." Of course, first I had to find where she put the damn thing. The candle in my hand finally illuminated the small device. Yes, every young child should be afforded the opportunity to play with electricity. I came back into the room holding the unusual machine. Setting the candle upon the nightstand, I sat down on the bed a short distance from Christine so that the boy could watch, all he had to do was open his eyes.

"Alright, so this takes a little bit of time to get going. I have a few technical ideas to speed up the process, but for now the hand crank will have to suffice." As my fingers worked the device resting in my lap, I watched his eyes unable to resist the urge to peek. "Storms are actually quite an amazingly beautiful sight. Mother Nature's powerful demonstration of what she can do. We often do not think much of the power that can come of wind and water; such soft and yielding substances. And yet, with them can come the awesome power of lightening and thunder."

Still rocking the child in her arms, Christine was listening as I spoke, just as curious as Charles about the natural phenomena. In her eyes I saw a hint of silent thanks.

"Actually, they are the same action." I continued my lecture. "The lightning is the visible energy, the thunder is the sound of its powerful release. Not to say that one should disrespect lightning, but under a roof one is quite safe. Stone such as this does not conduct electricity."

A flash of lightning lit the sky followed by the rumble, Charles shuddered a bit but his eyes widened as he watched my hands. Beneath them I could feel the charge building.

"Amazingly enough, we can capture the same type of impulse using a few simple things. This is infinitely less powerful than what is going on outside." I was preparing myself for a little fun demonstration, the sting wouldn't last long. I just couldn't let him see me flinch. "It is accomplished by the friction of brushes inside the cylinder, that is what the crank is turning. And when the charge is ready to be released … are you ready?"

His eyes never left the device. He watched as my finger began to inch towards the ball at the end of the cylinder. I braced myself, it is not like I hadn't done this before. I knew damn well what was coming.

ZAP! The bright blue arc that leapt to my finger reflected in the boy's vibrant brown eyes. He jumped a little in Christine's arms. She was also not immune to the shock of the sudden sound, her own body jerking. I only laughed, fortunately I had not over-cranked it to the point of pain.

"It struck you! Didn't it hurt?" Curiosity had an odd way of conquering fear, he was already releasing his death grip on Christine's dress, leaning closer to the device.

"Not really." I shrugged. "Now remember, this is far less powerful than what you see out there. But electricity needs a pathway for the current to follow. It favors the most direct, with least resistance. That is not going to be through a stonework mansion to your bed. So, you are quite safe."

"Can you do it again?" His eyes flicked between the device and my finger.

"Of course." After a moment I pushed the device closer to him. "In fact, I will let you do it." I watched as he grasped the crank and began to turn it. "Stop when I tell you, we do not want to store too much power."

Christine flicked me a worried glance.

"It is alright, this one is not strong enough to hold a mortal charge." I confessed. "I have used it enough to know it automatically discharges long before reaching that level." Out of the corner of my eye I was counting the number of turns and the speed at which the boy was inducing the charge. "Alright, that should do it. Now, you are going to feel it, Charles. So be ready."

I watched him pause, holding his finger before the gap as he gathered the courage. A little tremor in his hand betrayed his fear.

"You don't have to do it." Christine assured him.

"No," he protested. "I want to do it!"

I held up a hand to reassure her. "I would not have shown it to him if it was not safe." Offering me a hesitant smile she turned her eyes back to the boy.

The first time that last increment in the gap is always the hardest to push past. At last, the blue arc leapt to life and kissed the tip of his finger. It lacked the dramatic flare of the first, but I was assured the power was low enough not to sting. Charles jolted with the surprise before turning his finger so he could examine it. Moments later he broke into laughter. "It didn't hurt! Mother! Did you see?"

"I did, you were very brave." She kissed his forehead tenderly before casting me a fond smile. "And you are a genius. I have never been able to help him through this."

Leaning back against the post of the bed, I shrugged. "Sometimes it helps to touch a lesser degree of our fears to learn what they are truly comprised of. Not that I ever feared electricity, but this device taught me a lot about electrical current and harnessing it. I have other devices capable of more power than this." I watched out of the corner of my eye as Charles began to crank up the device once more.

A loud crack of thunder rocked the window panes and the boy hardly glanced, so wrapped up in the eagerness of seeing that bright flicker under his control again.

"Alright, that is sufficient. Let us release the charge." I gently guided him.

Zap! Once more he dissolved into laughter.

The pattern was repeating itself, and I simply let the boy play. As long as I was counting, he would not hurt himself.

After some time a shadow darkened the threshold. Nadir stood broodingly with his arms crossed over his chest. "So, you have returned home. I thought we were going to speak"

I offered a slight shrug. "You thought so. I disagree. Just as before, now is not the time. Charles is learning about electricity. You may either aid in the lesson, or make yourself scarce."

The storm lashed against the window as he continued to stare at me, broadcasting his fury across the room. Without a sound he abandoned his intention, retreating to his room.

"What is wrong with him?" Turning to me, Christine narrowed her eyes in curiosity. "Did something happen earlier?"

I sighed. "Just his bothersome nature of being a suspicious old goat. It is not enough the rumors are flying around the Music Hall, but he has to come down there to add to it." Gesturing dismissal of the subject, I was glad to see at least she recognized it was unwise to conclude this conversation here.

The rumble of another peal of thunder caught Charles's attention, and thus mine. He was stiff for only a moment before his eyes widened with wonder. I had opened them up to the beauty of a storm, at least for tonight. Leaning back, I watched him with a smile.

Christine embraced him as he laughed at the storm outside, the bright bolts flaring from cloud to ground reflecting in his eyes. His fear had been so easy to banish, so unlike mine. I envied him as he lay snugly in Christine's arms.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16**_

The deafening thunder of the horses' hooves echoed off the stone walls of the street as carriage after carriage released the occupants to the front doors of the Music Hall. She wasn't open yet, but tonight was another affair. Tonight Carnegie gathered those involved in building the hall, the performers who would usher in her glorious triumph, and whomever else he desired to invite to his private party.

Most of society adored lavish parties; a chance to rub elbows with others, form business connections, or cease to discuss business entirely in trade for a little chat of pleasure. Personally, I detested social gatherings like this. Unless it was a masquerade, the event tended to be wrought with awkward moments and curious stares. Even wearing my absolute best attire in attempts to fit in always failed to offset the mystery of my mask. Tonight I had little choice in my attendance, I could only control how much I was seen amidst the growing throng.

I had arrived hours before the first carriage ever pulled up. This had given me time to observe the finished interior of the music hall, as well as strategically plan how I could move about the party without drawing too much attention to myself. Places I could vanish into when I needed a moment of collection. Oh how I longed for the secret passages of my Paris Opera. Of course, I had not carved such childish tricks into this hall. But for tonight, I regretted that decision. It was also not inconceivable that another blade could be concealed and waiting for an opportune moment to strike. I proved that very notion myself, for tucked neatly beneath my tailcoat, I had secured one of my best short blades within easy reach. My hand strayed to my coat pocket, once more I would be forced to play my game of disguising my drinks. I hoped that Carnegie would serve a white wine, it would make it so much simpler. Fortunately this wasn't a full dinner party. The other benefit of arriving so early was evasion of another discussion with Nadir. Tonight it was going to be difficult enough to maintain my composure without having been whipped up into a frenzy by his suspicions.

Taking advantage of the cover of a column, I leaned against it as the crowd built, guest after guest filtering in through the front doors. The well-to-do of society, many of them the business associates of Carnegie, entered the hall mingling with the whole of the Symphony Society, the Oratorio Society of New York. Musicians and music lovers alike continued to walk past me without a glance. Amongst them I spied Damrosch grinning broadly as he showed off the new home for the societies he conducted.

This was the first time she had been without the eyesore of the construction scaffolding. Thus, even those who had been diligently rehearsing here, stood with their eyes cast up in admiration of the stonework. That much I could revel in.

Feeling a need for some air, I drifted out one of the doors to linger in the recess that the surrounding arch formed. Purposefully, I had selected the door farthest to the right, the one receiving the least foot traffic. As the carriages pulled up, most of them unloaded to the middle doors, never approaching the column that hid me from sight as I watched idly. The evening atmosphere was stifling from the hot humid day, barely a breeze stirred the air. Dismally, I discovered it had actually been cooler inside the recesses of the thick-walled building.

"Beautiful, absolutely stunning." Breathless voices spoke out in awe as their owners stepped out before the monument to music. The rain of praise was as constant as last night's torrential downpour. But, just as last night's storm had become but background noise, so too did this. They did not know what they saw before them. They were unaware of the perfection of the stonework. Subconsciously, my hand began to caress the grooved stone before me. The throng moving through these doors, passing beneath these arches, had no idea how much work went into this building.

The door of a carriage opened. Leaning forward to glimpse around the corner, I observed the first passenger disembarking with the aid of the doorman. She was facing the other direction, but I swore that familiar silhouette belonged to Christine. As she stepped gracefully out onto the curb, a ripple of joyous laughter escaped her. A ripple that echoed in me with a tinge of confusion. There would be no need to come two blocks in a carriage. And this was decidedly not one of mine. What was she doing? Casting her eyes up the facade of the building, she glowed with unbridled delight before turning back to the other occupant of the carriage. _Other_ occupant of the carriage? She wasn't alone!

"Wait until you see the inside of the Music Hall." She trilled while gazing back into the carriage. "So reminiscent of the buildings back in Europe. It is no surprise, really. The chief architect on the project was an expert on European performance halls."

"What is there to be an expert of?" The doorman blocked my view of the form, but the sound of the voice issuing from the door of the carriage froze my heart! Raoul de Chagny swaggered out onto the curb. Even in the poor evening light, there was no hiding the swelling of his broken nose and the blackening of his eyes. The aristocrat's face must have taken quite a pounding to be left so colorful after so many days. It was the first I had seen him upright in ten I had thought him a poor representation of himself on his back under a prostitute, slouching in front of the hall he looked even more pathetic. He had lost substantial muscular bulk since last I had seen him in Paris. Though his attire was formal, it was ill-fitting, betraying the age of the tailoring. A scuffed top hat rode on his head in an attempt to add to his height. The illusion was lost on him as he hunched over in a clear air of disinterest. As he stepped beside Christine, I noted a distinct unintentional swaying to his gait, as though he had already partaken of too many spirits.

"Oh Raoul." Christine batted playfully at his shoulder. "Such a sense of humor. Come, let me introduce you to Monsieur Carnegie and Monsieur Damrosch. They are the most charming individuals."

"Who am I to tell the great Monsieur Carnegie not to waste his liquor upon me." Pausing in the middle of the entryway, Raoul caused her to jerk to a halt as he pulled out his pocket watch and blinked at it several times. "As long as this doesn't take too long. I'm a very busy man."

His voice was slurred, that confirmed it. The Vicomte had indeed already steeped himself in alcohol even before the party.

Christine reached up and tugged on his bow tie "My dear, this should be straight on you. After all, we want to make a good impression."

Reaching a hand up he tried to swat her's away from his throat in annoyance. She anticipated his clumsy motion and easily pulled her hand back. "Who cares. This is appallingly ridiculous. A pre-opening party. Waste of money, waste of time, waste of … everything."

It took every ounce of my willpower to resist the urge to appear right behind him and smash the wine bottle hidden in my coat across his head for his insolence. How dare he even attempt to strike her hand! But before him, she only laughed dismissively while tugging him towards the door.

"Come darling. There are so many people you must meet tonight."

There I stood like a stone mortared into the foundations of the building. Heated emotions swirled within me as I watched her hanging off his arm, reminiscent of an obedient dog trotting at the end of a leash. Why was she here _with him_? Of course they were married, but his negligence directly resulted in Charles's injury. This very man, who now demonstrated the manners of a uneducated peasant, wasn't worth a fraction of the affections she lavished upon him. Back in Paris, I had seen in him the flawed foundation that inherited indulgence had created. Time had only served to wear a larger crack in him, crumbling the facade of elegance he had worn to reveal the truth of what lie beneath. I had seen that probability even back then. Why had I ever entrusted the foundations of her life with this man? As a mason I _knew_ better!

Forcing my feet to carry me back inside, I kept to the edges as I ghosted between my hidden vantage points. It didn't take long to find them. Raoul angrily flung his hat to the coat check clerk. By the heat flaring on his cheeks it was obvious he had been arguing about something. Still clinging at his side, Christine simply laughed and guided him away, her eyes roving in the lights of the hall's lobby. From this distance, I could not hear what they were saying over the din of the crowd. I would be forced to risk being seen and recognized by that inebriated fool to gain access to their conversation. Forced to resign myself to only visual observance, I slowly tailed them as the two mingled amongst the crowd.

Eyes were cast over shoulders near the Vicomte as his behavior earned him annoyed and shocked glares. I had thought _I_ would be the spectacle of the evening with my mask, apparently Raoul was rapidly descending to that stature in my stead as he staggered through the party with drink after drink sloshing in his hand. More than once, I saw him catch his balance on the shoulder of a random young lady. The responses he received from such a social faux pas ranged from a polite withdrawal from his company to the heated casting off of the rude aristocrat by the insulted husband. At his current rate, I was predicting that Raoul's face would sustain yet another beating before the night was through. I found myself hoping for it!

Leaning against a column, I employed it to hold me back from following the two as they worked their way deeper into the crowd. I could not believe what I was seeing, and I felt my teeth grinding in anger. Despite the outrageous behavior of her husband, which now included his arm draped over her shoulder with his hand resting snugly between her breasts, Christine stood beside him as though he was a perfect gentleman. My fingernails scraped across the smooth marble yearning to leave behind deep grooves. Were it a softer surface, they would have.

The figure of a woman stepped in front of me before turning with a slight start. Clearly she was not anticipating finding someone tucked in the shadows. Shifting my eyes down to read her features, I found myself quite familiar with them.

Delivering an elegant bow, I greeted her. "Madame Carnegie, how pleasant to see you this evening."

She smiled back and held out her hand to me. "Monsieur Erik. Andrew was just looking for you. For some reason he was concerned you might not have come this evening."

I gently took her offered hand and stopped just shy of kissing it before chuckling softly. "Ah Carnegie. You would think he would have learned by now. I arrived hours before he did. I have been here the whole time."

"And handsomely attired, as always." Her eyes took me in. "Though I swear I have never seen you in anything short of full evening dress."

"And likely you never will, Madame." I had been a guest at the Carnegie residence a few times over the planning and execution of the hall. On those occasions Madame Carnegie had come to know me, and I her. She was a remarkable woman with a great affection for the performing arts which I suspected was the principle reason she often sought me out for conversation. Strong in character, and extremely observant, she complimented Carnegie wonderfully.

Raising an eyebrow, she inquired, "Andrew mentioned you had even carved stonework in such a coat. Is that true?"

I offered an elegant bow. "Indeed it is. Just because one is working does not mean one cannot be properly attired as a gentleman."

Glancing about for a brief moment, she looked back at me. "Erik, what are you doing back here?"

Casting my eyes up the column I remarked with mock innocence, concealing my true intention. "Admiring the carving."

She nodded briefly. "Andrew tells me there is a spectacular statue you carved with your own hands in the upper lobby. I should love to see it for myself. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?"

Oh thank heavens for this wonderful request! A reasonable excuse to leave the main throng for a while. "I should be delighted, Madame." Offering her my arm, I gestured toward the staircase. "Right this way."

Beside me, Madame Carnegie climbed the staircase. She used my arm for balance while gently lifting her skirts so as not to trip on them. When we reached the top of the staircase, she laid her eyes on the window framed statue and drew in a breath. "How lovely! And what a sweet little wren perched in her hand. How symbolic of the arts."

"Thank you, your opinion is always highly valued, Madame Carnegie." I offered her a half bow.

"Erik, how many times must I remind you, you may call me Louise." She smiled over her shoulder.

"Always once more." I held up a finger as she chuckled at my reply before returning to her admiration of the statue. Casting my gaze back towards the railing of the lobby, I could not see the crowd below, but I could hear them.

"You're not comfortable here, are you." She had drawn up beside me while I was distracted by the noise echoing up from below. I glanced over my shoulder in confusion as she continued. "I have seen enough of you to know when you are at ease and when you are clearly not. Tonight you are tense and distracted. You remind me of a fox who has heard the distant cries of the hounds."

I tried to offer a relaxed smile, but knew this perceptive woman had already seen through it. "I am not one who enjoys parties."

Madame Carnegie nodded. "Clearly. To enjoy one, it is essential to actually be engaged with those in attendance."

Waving a hand in the air I replied, "Tell Carnegie to throw a masquerade next time and I will be certain to find more enjoyment in the affair."

"I see." She lifted her chin ever so slightly, the smile on her face soft and comprehending.

In silence, we drifted to the railing, leaning upon it to gaze down into the gathering below us. Up here, where eyes were barely glancing, I felt a brief respite from all the commotion below. Words could not properly express my gratitude to Carnegie's wife for affording me with this opportunity to climb above it all.

"This building is everything he dreamed it would be." Her eyes wandered about the exposed stories of the open lobby. "A tribute to the performing arts, it in itself is an absolute masterpiece." Pointedly she turned to me. "Thanks to you."

Quietly, I added, "It was not solely a work of my hands, Tuthill also contributed to the design."

"Modesty." She chuckled. "Astonishing modesty when you should be boasting of such an achievement."

I hung my head and sighed. "Why tarnish a building with grand boasting when she speaks well enough for herself? I have nothing to say that this Music Hall cannot express greater in her own way."

"And what a wonderful statement she makes to the grace and power that music holds. It is beyond doubt that the man who most influenced her fully comprehends the world of music. The Oratorio Society can hardly wait to perform the first night, a chance to be heard with the acoustics enhancing their performance. You should hear them speak of it, Erik. The lavish descriptions each member delivers when they saw this hall for the first time." Turning her eyes to me, she shook her head. "You cannot possibly pick those remarks out amidst all the pointless idle chatter while hiding in the shadows."

Pausing at her words, I shifted my weight on the railing beside her. From below, every voice, every conversation in the crowd carried in the same manner. They mingled and collided to form an unintelligible collision of words. It was impossible to pry apart one thread of words from the next for any length of time. Laughter, amusement, lavish praise, awe, anger … it blended into one endless barrage of sound upon the senses. The sound of humanity.

A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. "You're missing out, Erik."

Still leaning on the railing over the crowd, I shook my head in astonishment. "Madame, the more I am graced and honored by your presence, the more I am certain that Carnegie found himself a masterpiece among women."

Tossing her head to the side, he laughed, heartily with an almost musical intonation, an undeniable blush coloring her cheeks. "Too much, you really are too much. Now, I must go find Andrew before he makes his grand speech. I expect to see more of you this evening. You should enjoy yourself sometimes, Erik. Not deny yourself the chance of experience."

I sighed before smiling. "Ah, but Madame Carnegie, it is experience that has taught me the harshest lessons in life." With a graceful hand I waved her off. "Do not doubt for a moment that I will appear when the time is right. I shall make the appropriate cue without fail, you have my assurance in that."

Gliding from the railing, she looked over her shoulder at me, where I remained motionless. "You will be returning to the main foyer soon, I trust?"

"Yes." I could not help but admire her gentle persistence. "A moment with my thoughts and I shall once more rejoin the world."

She lifted her chin in a quiet gesture of triumph. "Good. I hear your toasts are beyond compare." Turning on her heel, she began to descend with a strong elegance that belonged to the stage. Carnegie had chosen his wife well. He had also born great opposition to his choice as his mother had not approved of his decision. Of course, she would not have approved of anyone for her son. Jealously she had stolen all his time and affection. It was not until some time after her death that the couple had felt it appropriate to bring their secret engagement to light. If rumor was to be believed, Carnegie's strong-willed mother had all but demanded that he remain a bachelor all the days of her life. Surprisingly, he had honored that wish.

Once more leaning on the railing, from my vantage point I searched the crowd below me. The vocalists were gathered in a corner deeply engaged in conversation. They hardly took their eyes off one another. I doubted they had seen me yet, and could only deduce by their darkened expressions that they had already decided the rumor was confirmed. Damrosch was in the middle of the throng, Carnegie not far from him. Both men were positively beaming, surrounded by a sea of businessmen. Carnegie himself was alive with the attention focused on him. It took a fair amount of searching before I located Tuthill enjoying a glass of wine beside his architectural mentor, Richard Hurt. Below me, they were all having the time of their lives. I could not possibly compensate using the same technique I had at the last party. After all, that had been a private performance. At this celebration, it was the Music Hall that should be receiving the lavish attention of the crowd, not the illusions of some magician making a mockery of his colleagues.

A commotion in the corner caught my attention as numerous alarmed shouts carried over the din. A river of turbulence surged through the packed bodies in the hall, at its center—Raoul. Shifting my position on the railing, I tracked him as he tried to shove his way towards the front doors, an air of panic about him. From my view, I discerned that I was not the only one marking the hasty departure; Carnegie's narrowed eyes also observed every step the drunkard took. As Raoul passed close enough to be caught by the electric lights, there was no denying why. The Vicomte was a distinctive shade of green. He may have been inebriated, but the man had sense enough to know when he was about to undignify himself by revealing his guts. Good, at least the floor would not have to bear the embarrassment from this cur's overindulgence.

Abandoned in the crowd. I saw Christine deeply engaged in a conversation with a few members of the Oratorio Society. A dull ache briefly flickered in my chest, I found my hands tightening on the railing with a longing to be right beside her. I wanted to be involved in that very conversation regardless of the topic. Undoubtedly, it was centered around music. The gestures in the air, mimicking bars of music, portrayed that much. They were all so alive in this little pocket of the crowd, their spirits glowing with affection for the arts. I so desired to be amongst them, and yet here I stood … apart.

"Attention! May I have everyone's attention please!" On the landing of the staircase framed by the arch, Carnegie stood with his hands in the air, a broad smile tucked in his beard. His voice had cut through the crowd clearly aided by the walls and in a matter of moments silence descended and all eyes came to him. "Thank you. Welcome to this celebration. I am certain that the cause for it is well known. After all, we are standing within the greatest tribute to music in America."

Applause broke out. Letting it wash over the hall for a moment before holding up his hands to continue, Carnegie exacted his command over the gathering.

"Tonight we look to the future of the arts. It began as a dream from Walter Damrosch for a place to adequately house his societies for performances." He waved a hand. "Damrosch, please join me up here."

Through the sea of people, Damrosch made his way up to the landing taking Carnegie's hand in a firm shake as he reached it.

"This hall would not be here today had this man not approached me with the idea to enhance the culture of this great city. No more piano showrooms for your orchestra, Damrosch. This hall will be the new home of the Symphony Society, as well as the Oratorio Society."

"And so much more." Damrosch added with a wistful smile. "Thank you, Andrew Carnegie for making my father's vision a reality and a gift for future generations."

They had to wait for the applause to dwindle. Carnegie glanced once more towards the front doors before he waved his hand out to another figure in the rear of the crowd. "Buildings do not construct themselves. William Tuthill, whom many of you know as a cellist in the Symphony Society, was gracious enough to step forward as official chief architect." Tuthill mounted the landing with a slight bow before shaking both mens hands eagerly. When he turned back to face the crowd I noticed a distinct blushing to his cheeks.

Now Carnegie's eyes roved over the crowd, clearly in search of something, or someone. I leisurely made my way across the deserted upper lobby, fairly certain I knew what was coming.

Carnegie's voice rose up from below me. "I had hoped to recognize one of the greatest contributors to this hall, however I have not seen him this evening."

"I am here."

Spinning on his heel to look up, Carnegie was clearly startled to find me just a few stairs above him, stairs that had previously been empty. "Erik! When did you arrive?"

Leaning against the railing hopefully conveyed to the crowd that I was relaxed, even though inside I was anything but. My peripheral vision was caught up in the duel act of watching for Raoul's return, while measuring the response of those out in the crowd. It was a mixture of shock and curiosity. Keeping my voice pleasant and calm, I waved a hand and confessed. "I arrived well before you, Monsieur Carnegie. If you have not seen me, it appears you were not looking hard enough."

He laughed and reached a hand up the stair case to bid me forward. I was already significantly taller than he was without the benefit of the stairs I stood upon. "This Music Hall's birthing, as Erik has been known to refer to it, has been well orchestrated by this very man. Steeped in the grand architecture of Europe, where he served as a master mason on the Paris Opera, with an astonishing understanding of acoustics and a passion for musical perfection, this man has assured the dream would achieve its grandest conception. Though he had requested right from the beginning of this enterprise to remain a silent partner in this venture." He held up a hand to stop the protest that I leaned forward to deliver. "I will not let the greatest contributor to this hall remain un-recognized. For his hands not only drafted many of the designs seen here, but they also were instrumental in carving the very stones. On opening night, the acoustics of the main auditorium you shall hear for the first time are this man's genius execution. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Erik, the heart of this Music Hall." He laid a hand on my shoulder and brought me right up to the edge of the step.

Silence followed as they stared at me on the landing before them; this sea of the well-to-do in society, confronted with Carnegie's lavish praise upon a stranger to them. They knew not how to respond to the eccentricity placed on a pedestal above them, this man in a mask. Just as I was beginning to feel that odd warning that it might be wise to step back, I heard clapping erupt towards the middle of the crowd which slowly spread. The origin I discovered to be Christine, the members of the Symphony Society had joined in and moments later the entire crowd was enthusiastically clapping. Saved by the pressure of conformity.

When the din died down, I stepped back and shook hands with Carnegie. "Sincerely, this is too much."

"Nonsense." Carnegie had the gall to correct me. "You are deserving of more than just recognition." Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a document and held it up. "Ladies and Gentlemen, every great endeavor requires someone to assure that the journey continues to remain on its tracks. If you will pardon the rail industry reference, the analogy proves true. I have a steel empire to run, but I have no desire to see this ambitious dream sacrificed to those who have no appreciation for culture." He turned to Damrosch. "You turned my focus on this dream." Then he turned to me. "You kept me to it and helped me see quite clearly that out there are many who do not grasp the importance of such culture."

I shrugged beside Carnegie feeling the moment had gotten just a little too emotional, it was time to break that up. I elegantly jested, "Fortunately those people are not required to understand what they are experiencing to enjoy it. Or else we should find the hall's auditorium devoid of an audience."

Both Carnegie and Damrosch burst into unreserved laughter. Below us, the crowd also laughed and clapped. However, I was left to wonder how much they realized I had insulted them.

"How droll an observation, Erik." He wiped tears from his eyes. "This is why we are here this evening." Holding up the document, "here, in a binding contract, I have left the hall to be the permanent home of both the Oratorio and Symphony Societies." Producing a quill for effect, he handed it to Damrosch who carefully penned his signature at the bottom. At that, the clapping broke out anew until Carnegie spoke once more. "And not only that is contained within. To ensure this hall does not waiver from the dedication to the true arts, I have selected a protector of her interests." Turning to me, he held out the quill which I took in my left hand. My eyes roved to the corner of the crowd where I knew the vocalists to be. All four sets of eyes were wide with unbridled shock. "Erik, as a principle investor in this hall, and by your signature on this contract, you are hereby the chairman of the arts for the Music Hall."

My elaborate singular name etched on the document, I handed the quill back to him as we shook on it. In a moment he signed it himself, making it official. A strange surge of pride stole through me as I glanced over the crowd. There was less shock in their expressions, but more curiosity about what stood before them.

"In my stead, these capable men will oversee this wondrous hall which shall become … " He glanced up at me. "What was your toast the other night? I had wanted to recall the words, for they were so completely fitting."

I smiled and took a step forward. "Many have tried before us to create a hall that captures the heart of what music is to the soul of man. Though some have come close, all have failed. We have taken stone and mortar, blood and sweat, laughter and tears and constructed the perfect chamber out of that purest of emotions. Love. We have created this structure for the love of music for not just this time, but for ever onwards. Shall she always be recognized as the Western pinnacle of all musicianship."

Fortunately, I had seen Carnegie draw his hand back and had time enough to forcefully quell my natural response as he delivered a firm clap to my shoulder blade. It was a gesture of good friendship that for me, could trigger an instinctive defense. My steeled will-power held me rigid against the impulse to strike him before the blow could be landed. It was too close a call. Out in the crowd I spied Christine's hand covering her mouth in shock. As Raoul was still absent, she may have been the only one in the room to know what had just been narrowly avoided.

"Congratulations, New York City! This is my gift to you!" Carnegie called out before descending the steps into the applauding crowd.

As they closed around him, focusing their attentions on the philanthropist, I used the distraction to descend the stairs as elegantly as possible and avoid most of the attention. Eyes still followed me, but from a guarded distance. I was the only one in the room wearing a mask, and there was no doubt discussion would run rampant as to why Carnegie had entrusted his musical hall to someone as unusual as myself. Over the years, my presence in Manhattan had not gone unnoticed. Tt would have been preposterous to even suggest that it could have. However my name had not been widely known. Rumors abounded of the eccentric masked man who lived in _that_ mansion. Not that my mansion was unusual in itself, the placement of it so close to Central Park and so far from the more developed sections of the city lent itself to suspicion. People found the oddest things to obsess over. And often I found what was acceptable for one individual was found to be an abomination in another.

Wending my way through the curious stares, I purposefully approached the corner where the vocalists lingered, eager to catch a few threads of the conversation that followed the little ceremony. On my way I prepared a little glass of wine, Carnegie had chosen to serve a nice variety and I could not help but opt for an appearance of red on this little encounter. Their voices met my ears before I even glimpsed them, though the words sunk into the general din, the tone of their discussion was clearly wrought with complete bewilderment. A well placed column hid me from view, they were conveniently on the other side, preoccupied in their discussion.

"It was too much a coincidence." La Mareesa disputed. "We all heard what Duchene said."

"Yes," Annitolli shot back. "But we also know she went to Carnegie with that information. Why then would he have entrusted the hall to that man if he found truth in the claim?"

"That's not hard to explain." La Mareesa went on. "The Phantom of the Opera was known for controlling the management of the Paris Opera. Obviously he did it again on Carnegie—whatever trick he used. We are all in grave danger."

Nervously, Kline interjected. "It is possible, I don't like to admit it, but there is something more than a little strange about a man who has never been seen without a mask."

 _Oh, thank you for that little window of opportunity!_ Stepping out from behind the column to come to stand behind La Mareesa. I cleared my throat. "And since you have never seen his face, how would you know precisely that you have **not** met said man without the mask?"

The color drained from all of them as La Mareesa turned and gazed up at me, her jaw running slack as she withdrew a few steps to the shelter of the other three. Lind remained silent, casting her eyes away from me, clearly embarrassed by the topic I had apparently chanced upon.

Taking a sip from my wineglass, I leaned against the column letting the stunned silence of the quartet draw on. So it seemed none of them had an answer for that little question.

"Well now," I continued pleasantly as if I had been welcome here. "What an astonishing evening filled with surprises. To find that Carnegie has entrusted the future of the hall to Damrosch and myself." Glancing at the group, I narrowed my eyes, still maintaining that pleasant tone. "And moments following, to discover such stunning accusations from those I selflessly spent days advising on the improvement of their performances … when I had far more important things to attend to. What a grand way to be thanked and appreciated, I can think of no greater honor than to be slandered by a Parisian fairy tale."

Every one of them swallowed tensely. "Mon … Monsieur Erik." La Mareesa tried to find her voice, but it only came out a high squeak.

"My dear," I offered blandly. "You really should not squeak. It is rather unbecoming."

Coming to her rescue, Annitolli broke in. "It is but an idle rumor … "

Cutting him off in that same bland tone, I was watching their tensions building. "Ah, but an idle rumor would not be gaining so much ground if it were truly idle."

A series of unflattering stammers issued forth from the vocalists. I had ample time to take two leisurely sips of my supposed red wine long before anything intelligible presented itself.

It was Kline who managed to string a sentence together. "If there is no cause for the mask, why wear it?"

"Have you ever worn a mask?" Employing no small degree of acting, I covered my discomfort of the question with a casual veneer. "They are really terribly comfortable, you know. I am rather known for keeping up with the grandest of fashions. I should think everyone will be wearing them in the future." What a baldfaced lie. I had never found the mask comfortable. Even after tailoring the cut as much as I could it still had a tendency to rub and chafe. Though the saddest reality was that others had undergone far greater suffering solely in the name of fashion. Case in point, the womens corset. I do not think I will ever comprehend the desire to wear a piece of clothing that, over time, actually caused deformities to the body. What a wretched idea.

There was no reply from the nervous group before me, only stares. I noted Kline observing my coat as if it only struck him now that I had always presented myself in the highest of fashions. Every day he had seen me at the hall had been in a coat of similar cut. What he did not know was why I always demanded to be attired as such. Yes, I had been trying to compensate for the mask. And though it did little good to offset that oddity, the habit was one I decided to maintain despite its ineffective nature.

"If no more is to be said, I shall bid you good evening." Without a further word, I left them staring like rude peasants. They could not say I had not been outwardly civil with them in the face of such a social faux pas.

Sliding through the crowd, I caught sight of Raoul across the lobby, chatting animatedly with a business associate of Carnegie's. Raoul's wild gestures were far more fitting for a tavern or saloon, and by the lack of replies and half closed eyes of the man before him, undeniably the Vicomte was not making a good impression. At his arm Christine stood serenely smiling. The sight lurched my stomach so violently I was forced to look away to drift deeper into the crowd. Words leapt out of the din, becoming ever apparent.

 _Mask. Ghost. Paris. Opera. Phantom. Murderer._

The oddest thread I caught was a remark from a young lady. "Do you suppose he is royalty? Some foreign prince and that is why he cannot reveal who he is?"

Well, at least that was a dignified reason for once. It did little to sooth the turbulence inside as I watched suspicions rising each time a searching glance was cast my way. Though many were curious, none approached me for pleasant conversation.

After a short spell, I decided enough time had been spent amongst the swirling clamor of this unworthy crowd. Vanishing back into the shadowed solitude behind a column, I leaned against its cool surface collecting myself. Why did such gatherings always come to remind me of how much I loathed the human race? How thin the veneer of civilization was that gentlemen and ladies, if even they might be called that, could verbally assault one another for the matter of pride. Actions ill-befitting wild creatures played out under the influence of the spirits they overindulged in.

"What a lovely dress you are wearing." The slurred voice on the other side of the stonework stole my attention. Inching forward, I glimpsed Raoul fingering the skirt and working his way up to the bodice of another woman, decidedly not Christine. At my current angle, I could not see who it was. "Beautiful bead work, it hangs lovely on you."

"It was a gift from my husband." Louise Carnegie's firm voice answered his slurred attentions.

Raoul only continued to engage her, leaning on the column so his form hung like a leering vulture over the top of her. What a fool! Andrew Carnegie would not tolerate this for a moment if he caught even a glimpse! Their courtship had lasted over a decade and the couple was very close.

"Lucky man." Raoul's speech pattern was severely effected by the alcohol. "I don't suppose you would like to have a drink with me?" He reached his hand forward and touched the lace about her throat, fingers brushing against her breasts.

Beneath the attentions, I saw Louise trying to gracefully extract herself from where he had her pinned. "I believe you have already consumed enough for this evening."

Not taking the hint, Raoul persisted. "Nonsense, I can out drink any ten men in this room combined. Just ask my brother, he says it all the time! Now, come on, I'd like a little company."

Closing my eyes, I forced back the overwhelming urge to seize him by the throat and repeatedly force his face into the marble ledge. Instead, I formed a more civilized solution.

Throwing my voice behind his head I suggested, "Do you not already have company this evening?"

Spinning on his heel, Raoul nearly lost his balance. "Who said that?" Darting his head high and low he searched the crowd before looking back to Louise. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what, Sir?" She replied innocently.

"Why do you not just go home." I suggested off to his right. "Your welcome is truly worn out." Now to his left. If I wasn't careful, I would have him spinning in circles like a cur chasing his tail. If it wasn't for the magnitude of his social folly and my close social proximity to the target, I should have found this rather amusing. The drunken Raoul was now looking beneath his feet for the sound of the voice. "Go home!" His feet seemed to say to him.

With a perplexed glance her way, Raoul brought his hands to his head as he stepped off. "Excuse me, I must be going." I scowled at the man's lewd behavior as he staggered off towards Christine, who was engaged in a deep conversation with Damrosch.

"There is no excuse for that man." Louise spat out. "Erik, I know it was you back there."

Slipping out from the column, my eyes remained locked darkly on Raoul as I replied, "I could not have said it better myself, Madame. His behavior is most inexcusable this evening."

"He is a Frenchman, I could tell by his accent, even through the slurring." She shook her head. "I trust this is the one so many are speaking of, who has been leering all over the gathering and insulting every man he speaks with. Wonder who he is?"

"Raoul." My teeth clenched as I watched him tear Christine away from Damrosch even while she tried to apologize for the interruption. "The Vicomte de Chagny."

"Not a friend of yours, I assume?" Louise rolled her eyes up to me.

"Never has been." My hands clenched into tight fists. "And certainly never will be with behavior such as he has demonstrated this evening. A pall is cast about all Frenchmen when he acts out in such fashion."

She nodded. "I have been to France, and I know you well enough to know what a slight he has demonstrated this evening."

Christine attempted to say graceful good evenings, as she was dragged quite literally from the hall. When I had suggested Raoul leave, I had only intended his departure.

Beside me, Louise placed a hand on my arm. "Thank you, Erik, for your skillful intervention."

Turning back to her, I offered a low bow. "You are always welcome, Madame Carnegie. I am ever at the service of your husband's household."

"Now, that is how a true gentleman acts." She clapped her hands together just as Andrew Carnegie broke through the crowd.

"Louise! Are you alright? I saw that man with you, I just could not get through the crowd quickly enough." He was breathless.

Embracing her husband she smiled. "Yes, Erik handled it masterfully. Had a few words with the inebriated fellow."

"I should want to know who that was that I might send some words of wisdom his way." Carnegie was stiff, betraying the protective nature of all he considered his.

Rolling my eyes, I remarked, "Those words would be wasted. If they have not been pounded into the Vicomte's head by now, there is no method by which they are ever going to get in."

"His name?" Carnegie insisted.

"None other than Raoul de Chagny."

That rose his eyebrows. "The husband of Christine Daae?"

"The same." I sighed. "Try and educate him if you like. But it is truly an insurmountable task as the boy has demonstrated this evening with his behavior."

He seemed a little intrigued by this revelation, his eyes studying me. I was certain he had heard that part of the old story and knew of Raoul's connection.

"My dear," Carnegie turned to Louise. "Are you sure you wish to stay after that altercation?"

"I will be alright, Andrew." She placed a hand on his chest and smiled. "There was a blessed intervention before anything untoward happened."

"Blessing indeed." He glanced approvingly to me. "I owe you once more, Erik."

"It was my pleasure, actually." I confessed, and the smile that crossed Carnegie's face proved to me that he had indeed made the connection. "Call it another moment in the party that I found truly enjoyable."

Turning back to his wife, Carnegie suggested, "Why don't you stay with me, my dear. The time is growing late and it seems the spirits are hitting some a little hard."

"Indeed, it is getting late." I checked my watch to observe that it was nearly ten in the evening. This was a good time for me to take my leave. "I must bid you good evening, Carnegie. Tomorrow is the last full day we have to prepare for the opening night and there is much to be done. I trust you have not seen a full dress rehearsal before?"

He shook his head. "No, but I trust you are extremely familiar with them."

"Intimately familiar with them."

Louise laughed. "Oh yes, they can be maddeningly chaotic at times. Andrew, you have only ever seen the finished product."

"There is so much involved in bringing it all together smoothly." I supplied. "I confess to not having rested much these last weeks. If I am to take to that stage, it would be best to have my wits about me."

"I fully understand why." Carnegie hid a knowing wink. "Have a good evening, Erik. And take good care of my music hall."

Sincerely I bowed before him, not a hint of mockery. "Thank you, Carnegie, for placing your trust in me."

For as much as my presence had acquired attention, my departure was uneventful. No one seemed to notice me now as I collected my cloak and left the hall.

By the time I closed my front door I had gone over the strange behavior of Christine no less than four times and it only resulted in driving the blade further into my heart. What did she see in that obnoxious cur? He had been deplorable back in Paris. Now he was a pox on any civilized man's reputation. And yet, she had publicly stood beside him in that crowd, not even acknowledging what a knave he was being. Unacceptable! How could he display the manners of a drunken sailor and how could she publicly condone them!

I could not deny that I was hurt. Had I not rescued Charles from the waters of the Hudson at considerable risk to my own life? Had I not been harboring both mother and son in my household and seeing after their needs all this time? Where had this ass been the entire time? As my sources supplied, he'd been indulging in opium dens, drinking, and gambling with money he no longer possessed. How could she stand beside him!

Storming up to my study, I flung the doors to the balcony wide open. Coming up to the railing, I leaned against it with my elbows locked. My thoughts swirled in a hurricane as I gazed down the street at the Music Hall with all the carriages still clogging the thoroughfare. I did not hear Nadir approach.

"You left early for the party." Nadir broke into my thoughts. His tone was mild for once, he must have sensed that it would be unwise to pressure me. "It surprised me, I had thought with your feelings toward social gatherings you would be fashionably late."

I shook my head, only turning to glance at him. "I left with enough time to find hiding places, if you must know."

Approaching the railing, he leaned upon it beside me. After a long pause, he quietly remarked, "There are a lot of carriages still surrounding the hall. You must have left early."

"I did." I replied tersely.

"Christine … " He stopped to ponder his words. "I knew you might be coming back early. She departed after you had, only in a carriage. There would have been no need for one from here. Am I to assume … "

"She attended with him." I replied darkly. "Yes. And it was a spectacle for all to see. What the devil does she see in that cur? He dragged her out of the hall in the middle of a conversation she was having with Damrosch. All the evening he was acting like a complete uncouth idiot cavorting in a tavern. This was an upper class affair, and as much as I loath the general snobbery, there is a decorum that must be adhered to. An aristocrat such as he, was raised knowing what was at stake to break social etiquette." My hands gripped the balustrade so tightly my knuckles were white.

Drawing a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Nadir shook his head. "I cannot say for certain what she sees, she is after all a woman and they are filled with the greatest mystery of life."

"Do not get philosophical on me now." I snapped. "I am not in the mood."

After a short pause, he quietly asked, "How did the rest of the evening go?"

"I hardly noticed … " Shaking my head, I corrected the statement. "It paled by comparison to watching her trotting about like a spaniel on _his_ leash." Below my balcony a carriage pulled up. "Hello … what is this?" Moments later my front door opened and shut before I heard the distinctive sound of her shoes climbing the stairs.

Christine waltzed into the study removing her earrings with a weary smile. "My, what an extravaganza that was. I must say that Monsieur Carnegie certainly does know how to throw a party."

Framed in the door of my balcony, all I could do was stand there aghast. It was like nothing had happened. No words of explanation, nothing.

Walking across the room, she called out. "I need to look in on Charles and get out of this frock. I forgot how little this allows me to breathe." The door to my chambers shut behind her, leaving me in a swirl of utter confusion.

"Erik?" Nadir waved a hand before my face. "Erik, are you listening to me?"

I snatched his hand out of the air and tossed it aside. "What the hell does she think she is doing?" Stunned did not even begin to describe the sensation I was feeling. Was I not even owed an explanation?

"I suspect there is something more to this."

Rounding on Nadir, I growled. "I do not want to hear any more of your suspicions! To be honest, I have heard enough suspicions being cast about. And digging up a past better left buried!"

Taking strides towards the door, I felt Nadir's grip on my shoulder. "Give her a moment, Erik. Let her compose herself and simply ask. I'm sure there is a reason for what she had done."

My temper was rising dangerously. "What explanation could there possibly be? You did not see it, Nadir! You were not there watching him swagger about like a drunken ass!"

Despite my efforts to fight him, Nadir pushed me down onto the couch. "Just wait. She is a woman. They never do anything without purpose."

"What makes you an expert?" I snapped.

He shook his head, trying not to laugh and failing in his effort. "Oh, I have spent my time around enough of them, and you know that well enough. Though I dearly miss my beloved and have not taken another as my wife, it does not mean I have not exercised my right as a man."

I rolled my eyes. "What an obnoxious notion. The rights of a man."

"You know what I mean."

"Of course I do. And you know why I have long objected to such a shallow notion." I glared heatedly.

"I did not mea—"

"Enough!" I snapped with finality. "You are not helping."

"I apologize if anything I sai—"

I held up a hand. "Just shut your mouth, Nadir."

The door opened and Christine entered the room robed in dark blue satin. "Much better. My, you two must have been in an intriguing discussion. I could hear the voices through the stone walls."

I glared up at Nadir from where I sat on the couch. He gestured towards me to speak up. With a roll of my eyes I began, "Soo, how is Raoul?"

Christine shifted her eyes to the side, her confidence fading a little under my fixed stare. "At this moment he is likely still passed out on the steps outside the hotel where I left him."

That was a little unexpected of an answer. "Why would you leave him in such a state?"

She shrugged dismissively. "Why not? He had already served his purpose for the night. We were witnessed once more in public as a couple. He had been drinking in excess entirely of his volition." For a moment she feigned meekness. "What was a poor subservient wife such as myself to do about his behavior?" The act was cast aside like a costume and she sat down on the other end of the couch smiling at me. "He can drag his own body up the steps to his room."

Nadir was wide eyed with shock as I brought my hands together in slow applause. "My dear, Christine. I do believe I have witnessed your greatest performance. By the stars, I swore in that hall, with the way you were hanging off him, that all was well in the Chagny household."

She shrugged once more. "That was the point. And if I had you convinced, then the entire hall must assume the rumors of the two of us being involved could not possibly be true."

"Did you come up with that on your own?" I glanced between her and Nadir, seeing if there was some plot that had formed between them.

"You actually inspired me." She confessed. "The other night when we spoke, and you were worried about the rumors from Paris and our connection. The least I could do was sacrifice one night to hang off Raoul's shoulder again and make believe that we were still a happy couple." This was not a lie, her downcast eyes revealed just how truly she had pretended all was well.

I leaned forward in concern. "Christine, obviously something untoward has occurred between you and Raoul. The years reveal themselves especially harshly upon him. What has happened to turn your heart so far from him?"

She sighed, looking away from me. "It is not one thing, Erik. It is the accumulation of many, and overindulgence to an extreme that … well, you saw tonight."

There it was, the hurt hardly even covered. But my eyes saw it, as she turned her head a deep purple bruise revealed on the back of her neck peeking out from beneath her robe. I nearly jumped up off the couch. "Did he do that to you?"

Her hand flew up to cover the bruise she was clearly unaware had been visible. "Erik … don't give it another thought. Please. It's fine."

"Fine?" I tensed. "It is never fine to strike a woman. Ever! And if he has, he shall pay dearly—"

She reached out to me. "Erik, don't. He did enough damage to himself this evening. Please, let him lie on the steps of the hotel for all to see. You need not endanger your own reputation in the pursuit of vengeance. Let gravity do that for you."

My breathing had to be forcefully slowed down as my hands clenched and unclenched.

"Think of the Music Hall." She offered. "Carnegie has publicly entrusted you to watch over her. How could you perform such a duty locked in prison?"

I had to concede to that point. Slowly I nodded, gradually retaking my seat upon the couch. "I will respect your wishes and let the man's behavior be his undoing."

"Wait … " Nadir interjected, "Andrew Carnegie entrusted the hall to you?"

Christine smiled broadly. "He did. The contract was signed this evening. Erik is the chairman of the arts for the hall. While Carnegie is away, Erik will see to it the dream is perpetuated."

A look of disbelief lined his features. "You are certain of this?"

I nodded. "Yes, I read it quickly enough before signing. Damrosch got his wish for a home stage that belongs to the Oratorio and Symphony Societies and so much more. And I have artistic control of the operations of the hall. Why is that so astonishing?"

"Rather it is oddly reminiscent." He snorted.

Holding up a hand, I dismissed his insinuation. "It is not like last time. There are no notes or ghosts. This time the name on the contract is actually mine not some ludicrous initials. What are you afraid of?"

Nadir shook his head. "Your ego!"


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter 17**_

The walls of the main hall shuddered with the onslaught of sound. A cacophony so profound that it exceeded the din from the other night's party by at least double. Chaos ensued as everyone who was to be involved in the concerts, from the performers to the stage hands, mingled about aimlessly. Instruments were being tuned to what I could not discern, as even a find-tuned ear could not have plucked out a single piano chord to anchor to. More than a few vocalists from the Oratorio Society warmed up without the aid of anything to key into. Their voices clashed in the hall surrounded by the general noise. Laughter, shouts, nervous threads of conversation, outlandish bragging all clashed in a storm laden sea of sound. There I stood in the midst of the auditory onslaught in the center of the front row, my eyes locked on the paper before me as I penned out the basic order for things. I performed quick calculations on timing for the length of the piece and the amount of time required to set for each one. Lighting was going to be the most critical, the crew would only have today to get accustomed to the lights unique to this setting. I had not managed to make enough time to assess how skilled the stff was. At least this was not an opera with performers moving about the stage. However, for the evening to be striking, there was a call for properly timed limelights.

"Everyone please!" Damrosch tried to raise his voice above the crowd. It was utterly lost. "We have to get started." There was no change, only those right beside him could have heard and they were ignoring him. "Wait! Ceril, that can't be there, you'll have to keep that back behind the wings! Everyone please be quiet." It seemed an insurmountable task.

At last, the young man dropped down off the stage to land beside me, my pen still cut across the page. "This is absolutely chaotic! I'm used to the smaller spaces of the piano display halls. No one can make themselves heard above that din." He gestured in frustration at the stage.

I did not look over at him as I penned on the next performer and the allotted time. "Are you a gambling man, Damrosch?"

The weight shifted back on his foot as he studied me. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Smiling sideways at him, I replied simply. "I bet you I can quell this into complete silence in less than five seconds."

"I dare say I cannot see how." He waved a hand. "I'd gladly put a dollar on that bet knowing it is impossible. What do you place on the line?"

Laying down the pen, I temporarily abandoned the board I had been using a writing surface. I extended a hand. "If I fail by even a single second I shall show you the trick of the pocket watch swap."

His eyes brightened, betraying how much he longed to be privy to that trick. "Deal!" We shook on it, both removing our watches from our vests to observe the time.

Ignoring the stairs, I simply mounted the stage head on. No one noticed a thing, they were so absorbed in conversation. Leisurely, I strolled along the stage until I hit the exact point I was looking for, my eyes mischievously traced the arch. Glancing over my shoulder, I held up a finger to Damrosch in show. I intended to mark the passing of each second on my hand. With a deep breath I concentrated on the point where I desired my voice to carry out from, the auditory focal point would provide the absolute ideal amplification. I summoned up my most commanding tone.

"Silence!" The single word tore through the crowd as it hit the wall and washed over them like a tidal wave. Everyone struck by the all encompassing wave of sound turned to face me, my fingers ticked off the passing seconds. One, two, . . . by three the sound had been decreased ten-fold. By four complete silence had descended. I never lifted the fifth, which more then filled the quota of my bet with the young conductor. The clasp of my pocket watch as I closed it could be heard throughout the entire hall.

Dumbfounded, Damrosch stared up at me from the front row, his own pocket watch hanging in his limp hand.

I gestured towards the now obedient group of performers on the stage. "That was four. And Damrosch, next time take care in whom you let set the arrangement when placing a bet."

As I offered a hand to help Damrosch back onto the stage he replaced his pocket watch with an expression of disappointment before levering himself up. I knew someday I would have to show him that little trick he so desired to understand. But not today, we had work to do today. Eyeing the arch he extended a dollar to me. "You win, I don't know how you did that, but you were right."

I shrugged as I took it from him. "A simple trick, and since I designed that arch, of course I knew where to stand to be heard." Momentarily, the bill vanished from my hand, seemingly by magic. Later, Damrosch would find it back in his pocket.

Shaking his head, he chuckled. "Perhaps you should be the one conducting."

"I will be, of some sort." I replied. "Who do you think will be ensuring all goes well behind those stage doors." Holding up a finger, I stepped back beside him to address the group. "Which reminds me, all of you need to be aware of just how much sound will carry within this hall. Even from behind those doors as you wait to enter, an careless whisper would be carried out to the audience. So, I caution you all, there will be no tolerance of noise anywhere surrounding the stage area. Is that understood?"

Tentatively, the group nodded before I proceeded.

"Let nothing interfere with the integrity with the performances. You _will_ be on time. You _will_ ready for your entrances, You _will_ be respectfully silent while you wait."

As I returned without further remark to working on the schedule, Damrosch addressed them all. "We're ready to begin. The way the first evening will proceed has been determined. The Oratorio Society will enter the stage first, followed by the Symphony Society. I shall conduct the selected pieces. We'll have a short intermission. Then Tchaikovsky will take over and conduct you in a few of his pieces, after which I will return. Once that is complete we shall proceed with the solo instrumentalist and vocalist performances. Tomorrow I will conduct for the whole of _Elijah_ , then we shall have another pair of soloists. Tchaikovsky shall be with us for the remainder of the concerts, conducting a few pieces. Each night we will close with the selected solos. Erik is kindly in the process of putting that into order as I speak. Let us begin with the main pieces for the first concert. Symphony and Oratorio Society take your places. Everyone else, please take a seat in the auditorium and quietly wait to be called."

As the instruments were tuned, Damrosch glanced around. "Has anyone seen Tchaikovsky? We will need him shortly."

A voice from amidst the orchestra carried out. "Perhaps he hadn't heard Erik's speech about being on time."

I glanced up too late to catch the person who spoke, but that would not prevent me from the warranted rebuke. "I am certain that Tchaikovsky will be on time. As I am also certain he would be as displeased as I am about such a remark. You will display the proper respect for a fellow musician or you will find no place upon this stage."

A tense silence filled the room before Damrosch tapped his baton on the stand. "Alright, let us proceed, we can at least begin with our first pieces."

Beethoven's music filled the hall as I continued to calculate the length of each piece. It was going to be a grand festival of music indeed. The variety we were producing was staggering, and the quality had been hand picked. This event was bound to be the talk of the town for ages to come. I was determined to make it so.

Beside me, a series of shadows approached. A quick glance afforded me the knowledge that the vocalists had assembled around me. I did not stop on my task, even when Lind cleared her throat prodded by the others to capture my attention.

"Yes?" I inquired while scrawling the time for another performance.

"Monsieur Erik, we have a request for you." She asked meekly.

I chuckled darkly. "Really. It must be quite a desperate request if you all should approach me following the treatment from the other evening."

She shifted to look up to Kline who pushed her forward gently. "We apologize, Monsieur Erik, for our misconduct earlier. We request that in Lloyd's stead you play our accompaniment at the concerts for us. While Lloyd is an adequate pianist, he is nothing compared with your skill."

For the second time since undertaking the task, I laid the pen down. How utterly amusing. They were practically grovelling at my feet. The others who had not been forced to be the speaker were waiting with baited breath for the reply. My eyes roved over each of them, drawing it out and purposefully making them wait. I folded my hands before me and leaned back with a smile. "The answer is no. I will not." I could not have forced more of a distraught expression on their faces should I have tried.

"But," Kline took over pleading with me. "The man lacks emotion when he plays. Your accompaniment holds so much more substance."

I shook my head. "Than it is up to you all to overcome that. You must carry the emotion of the pieces for yourselves. They have not come to hear Lloyd play, they are here for your voices. He should not stand out. If he does, you are failing in your performances. I have my own piece to concentrate on, and I also have duties in overseeing the night's organization."

Crestfallen, they stared at me. Silently pleading that I might have some pity and save them from their apathetic pianist. I had done them an ill-service when I had spoiled them in rehearsals. Now they had to learn to work with what they were given.

"Master Erik, please reconsider. The performances would be greatly enhanced by you." La Mareesa sat down beside me, folding her hands. "You will hear it shortly when we take the stage."

"Indeed I shall." I gestured to toward the silent piano. "And I better hear each and every one of you moving mountains with the emotions of your pieces, as is your duty as vocalists. It is not Lloyd's job to carry the emotional vibrancy of the piece. He is only to set the movements for you. It is your task to move the audience. I will have no blame cast upon him for any short-falling. In fact, I better not witness any shortfalls."

Their eyes shifted amongst themselves. One by one they realized there would be absolutely no compromise. Lloyd would accompany them. That would be final. One by one they filed off to wait for their call to the stage. Meanwhile I worked out the last few performances reaching the end of the program. Taking my time, I looked back over it.

There on the last line of the opening night was Christine Daae followed by my name and the minutes I knew the piece would fill. Ours was not the longest of the pieces over all, the orchestra pieces well overtook my composition. However, of the vocal solo pieces it was indeed the lengthiest. Thoughtfully, Christine was maintaining a professional distance between us. It seemed like a waste of her time to be here today. After all I had not brought my violin, as I would not unveil the piece before opening night. But there she sat, smiling sweetly up at the stage, her body moving to the music as Damrosch conducted. In her element she glowed with an inner light I doubted any other saw in her. While the other vocalists gathered in the corner under their private rain cloud, she was a lighthouse beacon perched on the rocks to cast hope to the most dismal of spirits.

I only longed to do her performance justice tomorrow night. This evening we would be locking the door to the music room until we had every intricate note. We did not have a choice in the matter, time had run out.

Damrosch turned to the auditorium seats looking forlorn. "Erik, is there any sign of Tchaikovsky?"

I shook my head. "No. His train was scheduled to arrive earlier this morning. I suspect something may have delayed it." Handing the page up to Damrosch I suggested, "Why not direct your other pieces now, we can run the solo performances and hopefully he will arrive towards the end of the rehearsal. If worse comes to worse we can always rehearse with Tchaikovsky tomorrow in the recital hall."

Lowering his voice, Damrosch sighed. "I'm worried this will be a disaster."

Placing a firm hand on his outstretched arm, I reassured him, "We are undertaking an immense tribute. These situations are prone to hangups in the rehearsal stage. Relax and be confident. I am certain everything will be fine by tomorrow."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"You do." I released his arm. "I have every confidence that you will command that stage tomorrow night. The performances are in order. The lighting crew needs to be tended. The Societies are simple when it comes to lights, but still it shall require a little more finesse."

I took a few steps from the stage only to hear him call out. "I cannot wait to hear your piece towards the end."

Calling out over my shoulder, I continued on my path unhindered. "You shall be disappointed to wait til tomorrow. I have left my Stradivarius at home."

Damrosch did not relent. "I am certain one of our violins could be lent for the purpose."

I waved dismissively. "Valiant attempt, my dear friend. But there shall be no preview. You shall have to be patient and wait like everyone else."

I doubt he was aware of how much the curse he muttered carried as I remained undeterred. It made me laugh, his efforts to bend my will. I had taken great pains to be certain I was well rested this time. Too many compromises had been tricked out of me of late due to exhaustion and distraction. The greatest mastermind in that regard had been Carnegie, not that I blamed him. The man was keenly observant and undeniably skilled at using every advantage he could to gain his desires. In that alone I had to admire him, he was indeed a chess player who planned several moves ahead in every game he went about in life. We were kindred there. However, now was not the time to give the man another opportunity to corner my steadfast honor.

Climbing up to the balcony, I encountered the lighting crew master and I held out a list of quick notes. Tomas Schist took the paper and stared at it blankly. "What is this, Sir?"

Drumming my fingers on the railing, I remarked, "I take it you are illiterate?"

"Begging your pardon, Sir?"

Closing my eyes, I took a steady breath and reminded myself there was not time to find a replacement. "You cannot read, can you."

Obviously understanding my meaning, he nodded. "Yes. I mean no, Sir. I don't know words."

This would be considerably more difficult to coordinate. I sighed. "Please tell me at least one of your men is capable of reading?"

Schist shook his head. "No, Sir. But we do know how to work the lights."

"It is a start." I conceded, taking the paper back from him I crumpled it before stuffing it into my coat pocket. "Alright. Amidst the performances there will be soloists emerging from the Oratorio behind the orchestra. Your limelights will need to catch them as they come out from amidst the instrumentalists to beside the piano in the center. The effect would be best if the beams were to alternate."

"Alternate?" Schist was perplexed.

 _Patience_ , I reminded myself. Pointing to stage left I explained, "Yes, alternate. It means using one light for a while, then trading off to the other. The first soloist should be lit from the opposite side, the beam crossing. If they come from stage right the beam that's on stage left should illuminate them."

His eyes followed my gestures and he nodded hesitantly. Soon enough it would play out. I heard Damrosch rapidly reaching the point in _Te Deum_ where the soloist would step out. Schist returned from speaking to his crew of assistants on the two lights. I had hoped that the information carried well. With the entrance of the first, we would soon know.

Sliding around the orchestra, the man emerged beside the piano to no lights other than the glow of those on the stage.

"Schist, where are the lights?" I snapped out and glaring to the right where the light should have been issuing. I watched as Schist darted towards the man, frantically signaling him. The limelight's bright beam wandered all around the arch of the stage before finding the target. Rolling my eyes, I could only hope things improved.

Schist ambled back to my side looking nervous. "Apologies, Sir. Alex has it now, won't happen again."

"It better not." I snapped. The rest of _Te Deum_ did not require any unusual lighting. However, _Elijah_ for the second concert did. And I watched, hoping the lighting crews reactions would improve.

My hopes were dashed.

"Schist!" I bellowed. "Get it right!"

His hand dashed across his neck in an undeniable signal and Alex hastily threw the cover over the light. Because of the hasty distraction it meant that the other light missed being cued for the arriving soloist. I let my head fall into my hands. The moment Schist looked my way I grabbed his shirt to pull him close to my mask. "The concept is simple. I will not be able to get up here tomorrow night to perform your job for you. And I shall warn you if there is cause enough to draw me up here, you **will** gravely regret it. Now! Figure out your signals. Coordinate them. And get it right!"

The man's eyes went wide in terror as he nodded. Releasing him, I watched as he ran first to Alex then back over to David. He was back in the central point before the solo had reached the end. David's light dashed out after the performer bowed. Alex's light flashed on the next soloist.

"There you are." Carnegie came up beside me, concern edging his voice. "I thought I heard you up here. Tchaikovsky's train was delayed. It looks like he won't be here until late this evening."

"Damrosch will desire to run the pieces himself today." I nodded expectantly. "Tomorrow we shall have to run a quick rehearsal downstairs with Tchaikovsky directing. It is not insurmountable."

The soloist finished and the lights switched, though not as swiftly as I desired. "Schist, it needs to be _as_ the performer approaches the piano. Get it right."

Carnegie tossed me a curious glance. "Trouble with instructions?"

My voice was a low rumble. "The man is illiterate. The result is an inability to leave him the list I had made of the timing. It is regrettable that such a puerile skill is beyond him. There is no telling how much simpler this would be."

Leaning forward thoughtfully, Carnegie seemed absorbed as the next performer finished her piece. While the Oratorio society carried on, he broke the silence. "What is astonishing is the lack of culture found throughout civilization. When I was a young boy dreaming of making it to the higher society, I was excited by the chance to discuss the finer aspects of art and philosophy. And yet … " he paused to sigh, "I find the majority to be unable to quote a single line of Shakespeare. Knowing what little I do know of your previous life," I noted he was careful to go into no further detail, "I am astonished at how educated you managed to make yourself."

Joining him at the railing, I leaned on it over the sea of red velvet seats that tomorrow would be filled with the social elite. There was no denying that his observation of that shallow sea was accurate. "There are times when I wonder what more I would have been capable of had I been provided with more ready access to a formal education in my earlier years. After all, it was stunted to begin with, and cut off rather sharply. The world taught me many regrettable lessons in the harshest way. I had aspired at one time to win the Grand Prix de Rome." I shook my head. "Which of course had been entirely out of the question. The singular dreams of a cloistered child."

Curiously, he inquired, "Did you teach yourself how to read?"

"While the many tongues I can engage in are my own achievement," I laughed bitterly, "oh no, the basic ability to read along with the essential rules of French etiquette were mercilessly hammered into me with all the care of a obsessed blacksmith when I was but a young boy. My mother forced me to hold the quill in my right hand for hours on end trying to perfect my penmanship, which was a hopeless endeavor."

"But your penmanship is remarkably elegant." Carnegie looked at his hands. I saw in his eyes the moment he recalled the critical detail. "You're left handed, of course your letters wouldn't be clear from the right."

"You are more astute and far more accepting than she was." I hung my head, trying to force back the memories of how she had struck me repeatedly for my apparent insolence as a child. She had never let me be myself and for that we both had paid dearly. The fight had cost us both our sanity, and for myself I still drug behind me the heavy chains she had bound my frayed hopes in. "Oh to have been able to wander the halls of the colleges, to access their vast collected knowledge while I had briefly possessed the lofty ceilingless dreams of a naive child, before my hope had been mercilessly crushed beneath the cruel reality of my existence. Aspirations die if they are not allowed to soar. They need to experience the nurturing of other dreamers. Encouraged by the knowledge that others have come before us and gotten so far against the overwhelming odds. No one should be denied access to such a privilege regardless of being a poor boy from a small village or an over-privileged aristocrat."

His eyes shifted to me. "And which were you?"

"My, are we inquisitive." Leaning on one elbow I turned towards him. "The former, if you wish to know. Though precisely which French village I came from shall never be known, to any save myself."

"As you know, my family came here poor and searching for a new start."

"Indeed, Scotland was in troubled times around those years. 1848 was it not?" I ran my hand along the smooth railing, quickly taking stock of my whereabouts around that year. "At the time I cannot say I was well read on the subject, seeing as how I had been in Asia. I became more acquainted with Scotland's history when I began to have the luxury of collecting books some decades later, finally achieving the means of creating a home for myself."

He offered a knowing nod, I didn't need to say where that home had been. Carnegie knew enough of the legend to be aware of the details that had escaped Paris of my home beside the underground lake. "I have seen the means that provided for you." What an artfully elegant way to phrase that, I could only smile. "My family and I attended the World's Fair in Paris in 1889 and I could not help but a visit to the legendary Paris Opera while we were there. The grand escalier was magnificent."

"1889, so that is where you went after we had signed the contract." I scoffed. "If I had but known I could have offered advice on things to see. No matter, I am sure you had your hands full with all the activity of the fair."

"Tell me, Erik." He looked around the hall, I could see the gears turning in thought. "How long did that marvelous building take from start to finish?"

I groaned, casting my thoughts back to those years. "That commission took fifteen years to complete."

"Fifteen years?" Carnegie's eyes widened. "By my reasoning that must be close to a quarter of your life. For fifteen years you did nothing more than work on that singular project?"

"Not the whole time. There was that little matter of the revolution that put a halt to the building project and nearly completely destroyed the building," I grumbled. "The recklessness of men, their petty wars that cost the lives of so many and deprive the world of culture and beauty."

"What did you do during that time?"

"Heh, what any sensible man in my situation would have done. Made myself scarce and bid my time until we were once more permitted to work on the Opera. I should have liked to have been able to plead the case before the government, put an end to their foolish petty games. However, that was entirely out of the question. As far as they knew Garnier was the chief architect. I was a mere contractor hidden well in the paperwork, as per our arrangement. Our only hope of continuing was to ensure that I was not seized and locked away. In those years anyone out of the ordinary was scrutinized and accused of treason."

Carnegie's eyes widened with admiration. "Meanwhile in those years I was making investments and being reveled as a young millionaire."

"Maybe I should have left France earlier, perhaps I could have avoided the turbulence." I held up a hand. "Not that America was without troubles. What was that about a civil war?"

He nodded firmly. "Indeed, each country had its bitter fight over seemingly senseless issues with sensible solutions. And so it seems we were both inconvenienced in accomplishing our dreams."

"How many more would have their dreams plucked from the lofty heavens never to dream again?" I mused as I let my eyes wander over the carved stonework. "All for lack of sufficient support for their aspirations. It takes a lot of willpower to overcome adversity. Ever more when one lacks the access to prior knowledge."

"Yet … " Carnegie spoke distantly, clearly extremely deep in thought. "If they had access to better themselves … if they could but learn for themselves, pursue their own desires … what could society achieve?" He looked to me, with a spark in his eye. "If men like you and I can climb from the ravages of poverty to leave behind such grand tributes, there's no telling what could be achieved if more are gifted with the opportunity to access the tools they need themselves. Erik, you said it yourself. If you had been able to access the halls of the colleges and read their books, how much greater could you have become?" He held up a staying hand as I was about to interject. "What if that access could be provided to anyone? Why should solely the rich benefit from the writings of others?"

I could see he had an idea, but where it was going I was uncertain. "Books only do those good who know how to access the information held within."

"Precisely." My eyes watched with cautious suspicion as his index finger came to a pointed rest on my lapel. "Encourage all classes to read."

"Yes." I raised a hand. "But books are expensive, my friend. I know you to be a detailed accountant. You are well aware of the wages of average workers. A book is a novelty that most cannot afford when placed against keeping clothing on their backs and food on their tables."

"And that is why they shall not have to buy them." He grinned. "They can borrow them at no cost. Return them when they are done. Free libraries throughout communities. The public can access volumes of knowledge and better themselves. Erik, it is brilliant!"

Scratching my head I could see what he was thinking. Indeed, it was a great idea. Save, who would fund it? As I looked at his face I could see he was already running the numbers in his head. "I have already built a few libraries, but we need more. A gift to a community that keeps on giving. This shall be wonderful, a great way to leave my mark upon the world. To leave it better than how I found it!"

"Shh!" I held up a hand. "Your voice will disrupt the rehearsal." They were reaching the end of _Elijah_. "We best let Damrosch know he should run the Tchaikovsky piece. Are you coming?"

Giddy as I had ever seen him, Carnegie shook his head. "No, I will be in my office performing calculations for this new venture. Thank you, Erik! Thank you once more for the inspiration." He darted off before I had a chance to say any more.

Quietly, I strolled down onto the main floor and up to the stage just as the last notes finished. Damrosch spied me and came down as I shared the news with him. The conductor was disappointed, but accepted the circumstances. He turned to the symphony, "Alright, so we need to go over Tchaikovsky piece. Tomorrow, please gather downstairs in the hall so we can rehearse with him directing."

I made my way over to Christine with a soft smile. "Are you ready for _our_ rehearsal?"

She smiled back, chiding. "You're not getting out of it this time."

"No, I should say not." I conceded. "Tonight is our last chance to polish the piece."

"Have you found even a moment to rehearse?"

"A few, not nearly as many as I had hoped." I shrugged. "Fortunately, I did write the piece myself which lends me a little unfair advantage when it comes to familiarity."

"Erik." Her soft laughter was like music to my ears, more dear to me than the entire orchestra playing on stage. "I cannot wait for tomorrow night. It has been too long since I have stood upon the stage with this much inspiration." Her eyes gazed wistfully into mine and I knew for the sake of our reputations I should be looking away. But I found myself not caring. Deep inside a sensation stirred in me that I had not felt in years. The desire for creation in its purest form. I had been unable to summon the steady urge to create since I left Paris and never had been able to discern precisely why. As suddenly and mysteriously as it had abandoned me, it welled back with a vengeance. There it was, shining in her eyes … there was my muse.

Tomorrow night the world would witness something they had never seen. On a civilized stage, the devil would perform.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18**_

As I slid the opal pin, emblazoned with a golden treble clef into my black cravat, I realized that I was trembling inside, as my thoughts traveled inescapably to tonight's performance. I had never taken a stage such as I would be tonight. This would be no sideshow at a traveling fair. There would be no illusion to distract the audience from my unusual presence, no dark identity to hide behind. Tonight, when I stood on that stage, over two-thousand people would see me—as myself. The music they would hear would be my own creation. The voice they would hear would be raw emotion laid bare under the scrutiny of the true limelight shining upon me for the first time in my existence. Everything I had done before this was a sham, there had been no true heart in what I had previously shown the world. The gravity of it all forced me to sink down on the bench before my Steinway. Blessedly, I was alone with my turbulent thoughts. Christine was in my chamber getting herself ready for our performance. When last I had heard her, she was humming my song confidently, beautifully. The same melody drove through my head but the tone was desperate, filled with trepidation and a mixture of something else. I loathed identifying it. But the sheer existence was undeniable. I was deeply afraid of rejection.

A veritable sea of eyes would be captivated by a single entity … me. They waited expectantly with baited breath to either shower their appreciation or cast their harsh disdain. Over the vast years of my life I had stood before throngs; from the Gypsy fairs to the traveling shows across the steppes of Russia; to serving the shah and his khanum of Persia, performing works of magic and music intended to delight and disturb the millions who had seen me. Once I had managed to grasp hold of enough control to artistically effect my performances, I found myself capable of standing cold and detached before them. An icy figure wrapped in mystery, otherworldly and beyond the human scope. They had come in droves to glimpse me, the tales seeming to travel on the very wind to the far reaches of that great continent. All those years I quenched the steel of my emotions in the waters of my darkened view of how I was forever held apart from the likes of men. Artistically in control, other than a general disgust for the depths I had been forced to sink to just exist, I had never had so much as a moment's trepidation for setting foot on those stages.

I was doing everything I could to make the best impression. It had taken me over an hour to select the best fitting suit in my wardrobe. I should have commissioned a new suit from my tailor for this occasion, but time had gotten away from me and the task had slipped my overtaxed mind. This particular tail coat had the best cut to my current frame with the black satin lapel accents adding just a slight sheen that the lights would catch and play with. The matching black satin cravat was set into contrast by the bold musically marked pin I had discovered in a market years ago. The inlaid treble clef winked out of the creamy opal at my throat. The shirt was tasteful, only rows of simple tucks down the front. It would not detract from one of my favorite vests, made of deep red damask nearly the color of fine Merlot wine. The fabric was shot with threads of black and silver, creating an intricate pattern that mimicked the vines and blooms of climbing roses. Lying across the back of the couch was spread one of my dress cloaks. Comprised of a lighter weight black wool lined in burgundy silk, the cut was full and flowing. I liked the theatrical sweep it made when I moved. And seeing as how I intended to be wearing it during the performance, it was obviously the best choice. The final part of my attire was strapped about my waist, for this evening and the next four there was no need to conceal the blade. At my right hip rode a gold and ivory hilted dress sabre. The metal work was absolutely superb, fine details inlaid in what was near to threads of gold to form an intensely poised phoenix embracing the ivory core. The fierce beak of the rearing mythic bird formed the point of the hilt while the wings and tail traveled in fiery curls to the cross-tree where the fire branched out to guard my hand. The eyes were glinting garnets of the deepest red I possessed from my jewel mines. Rubies may be more of monetary value, but most often I discovered the deeper hued garnets offered more aesthetic beauty. I had commissioned the blade from a fantastically skilled Oriental craftsman and never regretted my decision. For as stunning as the gilded hilt shown, the blade was just as artfully mastered. Balanced to perfection, sharp as anything I had ever held, the tongue of steel winked greedily every time I held her to the light. This was a true masterpiece work of art, and I had paid handsomely to possess it.

There was no doubt that I would look as though I belonged to that stage, which I now co-owned by contract. Save for one thing—the mask. I knew there would be no escaping that detail. In a sideshow, it could be a gimmick, part of the act. On this calibre of stage, it would stand out as unusual. Even at the party the night before last, eyes had stared awkwardly as I stood beside Carnegie and Damrosch, looking sorely out of place.

On the edge of the piano, my Stradivarius lay beside its bow. I had brought up oil and a cloth to polish the fine wood to a brilliant sheen. Gently taking the instrument into my hands, I began the process carefully, ensuring that not a seam nor fiber was neglected attention. The oil worked magic on the dark aged wood, brightening the natural beauty and enhancing the details. The contrast of the different grains of wood that comprised the instrument were drawn out. Though the work of her construction took place nearly two hundred years ago by the hands of her master, Stradivari himself, the violin in my hands began to take on the appearance of youth. She had born the melodies of my various moods and withstood the brunt of my temper. And though scarred by those times, her throat was still capable of producing the most glorious of sounds. One of very few possessions to traverse the majority of my life, she had seen many years with me, many places and many crowds. It had been decades since I had acquired her, but I could never forget that clandestine occurrence that brought us together.

I had been young indeed, a vagabond on the roads leading to Italy. Though at the time I had not a single destination in mind. Why should I have had anywhere in mind? The seasons had but changed one single turn since I had freed myself from bondage with the Gypsies. I had left my two horses out in the woods and dared to advance into the crowd that was gathered in the village square. It had been a mild night with nearly no moon. The sights I beheld were not unknown to me, it was but another traveling fair entertaining the villagers. To many a quick glance I must have appeared to be with the company. But I had no desire to perform anything the eyes would glimpse that night. Instead, I shifted through the crowd, silent as a wraith lifting purse after purse from the enthralled throng. A rich night indeed for my nimble young fingers, a poor night for the troop as donations were hard to receive when a patron discovered he was without funds to offer.

Having rounded the crowd, I was about to steal off into the darkness when an angry voice caught my attention, forcing me to duck back into the shadows lest I be discovered. Tense moments passed before a man, overburdened by his drinking, stumbled about the corner hauling something in a case under his arm and trying to pull a mule that was resisting his urging. He was yanking and cursing as the cart's wheels dug deeper into the mud. The side of it bore the visiting troupes faded banner flapping in the breeze.

"We're going to be late, and you're going to be sorry!" He snapped! At last pulling out a whip, he cracked it at the mule who brayed in shock and shied backwards instead of forwards. What a fool. And yet he was angered ever more by the beast's response to his foolish move. I had felt sorry for the poor mule. With a frustrated growl, the man shifted around to the back of the cart, throwing the case inside.

A wicked smile was forming as I fingered the knife I had stolen from Javert and eyed the straps that bound the mule to the cart. It took less than a moment for me to sneak in the shadows to the mule's side and slice the leather bindings clean through. Though I hated to, I gave the frightened beast a quick slap on the hind quarter to get him moving. He burst forth, taking off into the night as I melted back into the darkness, trying to suppress mischievous laughter as the drunkard staggered off in futile pursuit of his freed animal.

Once he was out of sight, I leisurely wandered to the back of the cart to discover the beaten violin case that had been tossed inside. Voices approaching brought a sudden urgency to my motions as I swiftly flew up into the back and seized it, fleeing into the safety of the woods. Once beside my horses, I opened the case to find the beautiful instrument. This precious violin. From the moment I first touched the bow to the strings I knew she was a work of a master. It wouldn't be for a few years yet that I would learn to recognize it was the hands of _the_ master that had crafted her. I would come to learn that she bore all the hallmarks of Antonio Stradivari himself. She was an original masterpiece, and of everything I possessed, she had always been my the dearest companion. From Giovanni's cellar, where I briefly found refuge in Rome, to the house by the underground lake beneath the Paris Opera, to playing alongside Blanjini in the Bowery, and now here in Manhattan she had been the one possession I knew I could never live without.

Holding her up in the lights of my study, I smiled to see her shining once more. Her beautiful wood gleamed in the lamp light. Visually she matched her sound—flawless.

The door to my chambers opened and I heard Christine call out. "Erik, would you come in here please?"

Gently laying the instrument down upon the piano, I stood up curiously, calling out as I crossed the floor. "I sincerely hope it has nothing to do with getting you ready, my dear. I confess to knowing nothing about lacing up women's attire."

As I stepped around the door, my breath was taken from me by the sight. There she stood, draped in a formal gown of brocade, the colors of which were the purest white overlaid in threads of soft blush of the faintest pink. Towards the edges of the multi-layered skirt and the ruffled sleeves, the thread deepened to produce the effect of blending to a deep crimson red. The underskirt, which shown through the ruffled split up the center, was a deep crimson shot with the same blushing pink threads. The contrast was stunning. The neckline of the gown was a tasteful plunge revealing the gentle curve of her neck while assuring her modesty. A simple pendant hung high about her neck, a brilliant red rose catching the light when she moved. Her hair hung in dark ringlets, drawn up by a jeweled hairpiece that secured it in place just atop her head.

In the doorway, I was forced to place a hand against it as my world swirled. I was truly overcome by the sight before me. She was the embodiment of every grace a female could possess! Strength and confidence gleamed in her eyes. I envied those eyes, as before them, I suddenly felt extremely unworthy of their attentive gaze.

A blush of red crept into her cheeks as I stared. "I can assure you, Erik. I have been quite capable of dressing myself for sometime now."

I attempted to string a few words together and utterly failed.

Her laughter broke my stupor. "I trust you approve of my attire for the evening? I have had this for sometime." She spun, casting the waves of fabric about. "It would appear the color palette was perfect for the piece."

Slowly I nodded. "Y … yes, it is perfect."

On the far side of the bed, Charles sat up against the pillows with a small box in his lap, a ribbon wrapped about it. "Mother." He interjected impatiently.

As I glanced between them, perplexed, her smile broadened as she gestured me forward into the room. "Charles has a gift for you."

"A gift?" I murmured. "No one has ever given me a gift." That wasn't precisely true, Giovanni had gifted me with his silver compass after I had been overseeing his construction sites for sometime. However, that was more of a gesture of an earned bond between mentor and student.

The boy's eyes opened wide in astonishment before he lifted the box with a proud grin. "Well, now someone has." He said simply, before impatience broke through. "Open it! Open it!"

Seating myself on the edge of the bed, I pulled the ribbon and gently lifted the lid off the box. The light glinted back as it was caught by the facets of hundreds of tiny gem stones. Reaching inside, I lifted the curious object to discover it had once been one of my simple white masks. However, someone had undertaken the immense task of altering it. Beset in an array of stones, it now resembled the pattern work I had set into the automaton nightingale, which I only now became aware had somehow found its way to the night stand beside me. The effect was a wondrous work of art that looked precisely like a mask worthy of the fanciest masquerade. This was no cut glass adorning it, they were real gems. As I studied the setting of each stone, I was astonished to find that the technique was nearly identical to how I had set the automaton's gems.

"Charles … " I was still studying the fine details, examining every angle in my hands. "Did you do this yourself?"

The boy nodded vigorously. "Nadir and mother brought me what I needed. But yes, I did. Do you like it?"

"Very much." I reached forward and embraced him as tightly as I dared. The boy was still healing, though I suspected was near the point where I could let him begin to explore this new world. "I am not certain you know this, but you have solved a very critical problem for me." On stage this mask would appear to be entirely deliberate to the theatrics of the performance.

Christine rubbed Charles's shoulder as I withdrew. "See Charles? I told you he would love it." She blushed at me once more. "He wanted to give you something, for saving his life. It took us sometime to come up with the idea. We were worried about using one of your masks."

Holding up the mask I shook my head in wonder. "What more would be so perfect? Charles, I do believe that the favor has been fully returned."

Perplexed, he cocked his head at me before looking up to his mother. "But it is just a mask."

I chuckled. "Considerably more, my boy. You belittle your skill. This is a masterpiece. You mimicked the insetting of the jewels perfectly. That shows remarkable talent!"

"You see," she beamed down at him. "I told you not to fret, it is beautiful."

"And on stage it shall be elegant." Thinking of that, taking out my pocket watch, I sighed. "Speaking of which, Christine we should be getting down to the Music Hall. We are short on time. And I wish to arrive before the audience even begins to file in."

"Mother." Charles grasped her arm excitedly. "May I attend?"

With her eyes roving up to mine she searched for the reply. I shook my head slightly. "Not yet, darling." She gave him a kiss on his cheek.

"But I want to hear you sing, Mother!" He protested.

Reaching across the bed, I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I promise you, before the last concert is done you will attend. You are almost healed enough, Charles."

"You promise?" His eyes looked up into mine hopefully.

"I promise." Offering him a little smile, I inquired. "Now, may I accompany your mother to the Music Hall for her American debut?"

He giggled into his hand. "Why are you asking me?"

With an expression of mock astonishment, I humored him. "Well, you are now her protector, young master Charles. Is it permissible that your mother attend her performance?"

Rising to the formal tone, he took her hand and smiled broadly. "Nothing would make me happier." The imitation of maturity dissolved as he embraced her in a hug. "Sing pretty, Momma!"

Stroking his hair she kissed his forehead before settling him back down. "Erik will ensure I do. Now, don't give Nadir too much trouble."

"I won't mother." He assured.

Holding the nightingale mask in my hand, I made my way out into the study to pack my violin in her case while Christine wrapped a shawl over her shoulders. A quick fling of the cloak about me and we were ready.

Outside it was late afternoon and the sun had not yet set. As we strolled the two short blocks to the Music Hall in the deserted streets, I could not help but revel in the feat accomplished, the very significance of what we were about to unveil to the world. Beside me, I could still not believe was the most gracious woman I had ever come to know. She still often left me in shock by her unpredictable nature. Of course, it has been said time and again that it is simply the way of women. To try and understand them thoroughly would drive a man utterly insane.

Entering the hall by the stage door, Christine waved to me amidst the growing gathering inside the building. "I know you have duties to attend to. I shall see if I can find Madame Carnegie. She wanted to listen to the Oratorio Society warm up." The musicians were arriving and there was a general flurry of activity as everyone filtered off to their warm up spaces.

Traveling through the halls, I walked into the recital hall where the Symphony Society would be rehearsing soon, only to find it empty. It served my purposes well enough. Opening my violin case, I took out my Stradivarius and fine tuned her to the current conditions. I would not play _Forbidden_ yet. That piece would not rise within the hall until its due time. Instead, closing my eyes tightly, I drew the bow over the strings to release a long low chord before gradually building to a peak and then letting the notes cascade down. The piece was an old one I had heard on the roads in Russia, an elegant work for the violin filled with a mixture of deep emotions. Sorrow, despair, hope, longing. I did not ever learn the name of the piece or the identity of the composer. That made little difference as I recreated each intricate measure, swaying to the driving rhythm, feeling the vibration of the violin against my chin which carried in turn throughout my entire form until I embodied the spirit of the piece … a movement entirely comprised of loss. Within it, I lost myself entirely, surrendering to the power of those musical notes until the last note died on the strings beneath the gentle purposeful quiver of my fingers. Opening my eyes, I found I was being observed from across the room. Beneath the row of chandeliers, seated in a chair ten rows back, a thin, gray bearded man reclined in silent revery. His eyes watched me, a tear falling from one as I lowered the violin.

After a long moment, he began to applaud slowly, getting up to approach me. "Never have I heard such a soulful rendition of that piece." His words were slightly halting, English not his native tongue. There was an unmistakable Russian accent that betrayed who this man must be.

Thus, I switched to full Russian as I bowed. "I am honored to have such a glowing review from the great Tchaikovsky himself."

His head flicked to the side in astonishment as he replied in his native language. "And who is this who speaks flawless Russian in America?"

I extended a hand. "I am called Erik."

Approaching the smaller stage, he seized my hand and shook it heartily. "Erik, eh? I am privileged to have had a private audience of your skills on such a superb instrument. Tell me, are you to be in the orchestra I am to conduct this evening?"

"No." I informed him. "I am not a member of the Symphony Society."

"Pity." Tchaikovsky shook his head. "I have to wonder why ever not?"

"I have never auditioned for a place among them, as is custom."

With a burst of laughter, he tossed a hand into the air. "If it is custom, why ever are you waiting?"

I scratched the back of my neck. Truly, why had I waited? "I suppose it never really occurred to me that I should. And in truth, these last two years I have been devoting all my time to the construction of this hall."

His eyes brightened once more. "You were involved in this hall? This place with such unrivaled acoustics?"

"Yes." I shrugged dismissively. "I was one of the architects and master masons. So, you can imagine I have been quite busy in another art form."

He clapped his hands together. "And now that this is complete what shall you do?"

"I … " Stammering I shook my head. "I do not know."

Placing a firm hand on my shoulder, he smiled beneath his beard. "I do. And you're holding the very instrument right now."

Gazing down at the Stradivarius in my hands, my thoughts spun about on their own. He had heard me play a relatively unknown piece but once and yet lavished me with praise. Why, until he suggested it, did I never consider auditioning for Damrosch? My hand reached up, gently brushing the mask. That was why it had never occurred to me. I felt my shoulders sink a little, crestfallen under the reality.

"Erik." He grabbed my attention. "Let me tell you something I wonder if you have ever noticed. The entire time you were playing your eyes were shut tightly to the world around you. Anywhere in the world you could have been, and likely were, by how completely you captured the mood. However, erecting such an extreme barrier will shut out your audience from the full experience." He held up a hand and expanded his fingers. "Open your eyes and let them into the world your notes are painting for them. Let them see and experience the music through your eyes. You are extremely captivating! Do not hold back and there will never be a performer in this world that can move an audience more than you and that violin."

I held up the violin and offered a quick correction. "In that you are inaccurate. This evening I shall not be alone upon the stage when I perform. Beside me shall be a woman whose voice is pure magic. It is she who will move the audience to tears."

Tchaikovsky shook his head firmly. "Even before hearing such a voice, I assure you, she shall not accomplish that feat alone. You belittle yourself, Erik. It is refreshing in this world where every performer touts their skills as though their lives depend upon it."

Were it not for the mask I fear, I should have betrayed myself by blushing. "True talent speaks for itself and does not require a voice."

"We shall hear that this evening then. I look forward to it." Holding up a finger, he addressed me curiously. "There is some manner of queries I have been intending to make. Tell me, is the water safe to drink here?"

I could not help the short laugh that escaped me at the strange tangent. "Terribly unwise, my friend. In Manhattan the only water fit to drink has been prepared for tea."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "With lemon?"

I smiled and bowed. "Is there any other way for a civilized gentleman to partake it?"

Damrosch entered the recital hall grinning from ear to ear. "Is this who I think it is?"

I replied in Russian without thinking. "If you assume it is Tchaikovsky, you are correct."

"What?" Damrosch cocked his head at me. "Erik, you know I do not speak Russian."

Tchaikovsky laughed before taking Damrosch's offered hand.

Switching back to English to benefit the young conductor, I replied, "Yes Damrosch, this is Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. Tchaikovsky, may I introduce Walter Damrosch, conductor of both the Oratorio and the Symphony Societies of New York."

"Pleasure to meet you." Damrosch gushed out. "Absolute pleasure. I am honored you were able to attend the performances."

I rolled my eyes and placed a hand on Damrosch's shoulder as I noted Tchaikovsky glancing at me, a little perplexed. "Slow down, let him catch your words."

Damrosch blinked for a moment before turning back to the Russian and forcing his words to be a little slower. Quietly, without any more fan fair, I left the two composers to converse as the orchestra began to filter in. Collecting my violin, I made my way back upstairs.

Sliding silently into the wings, I glanced out into the hall that was beginning to fill rapidly, a constant flow of sound carried, amplified by the hall's structure. Beside me, I noted Tuthill, his fingers nervously twitching as his eyes roved through the crack in the door out to the audience building beyond.

"Relax." I muttered, knowing what was going through his mind. "The calculations are correct."

"A full house." He flinched. "A full house, Erik. Have you seen outside? The carriages are backed up as far as one can see. There are people who do not have tickets to this sold out event that are getting in by bribing the ushers. This building was not designed to hold more than a full house."

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I whispered into his ear, "You may not have accounted for that. However, I had. Now relax, the balconies will hold. Enjoy the night."

Swallowing deeply, he looked to me nervously. "I don't want a disaster."

"Nor do I." I replied calmly, "Which is why the stone walls are as thick as they are and calculated to hold well beyond the load we were loosely anticipating. Now, what is the best demonstration an architect can provide as confidence in his building?" It was obvious he had not a clue what I was about to say. My full opera cloak drifted as I gestured out to the auditorium. "By taking to your box in the first tier, you will demonstrate the utmost confidence for the world to see that this building shall stand for all time. Do not worry. Or you will not have the opportunity to truly take in the full splendor of this temple of music we created."

Tuthill took a deep breath and let it out as he composed himself. "It will be fine, the hall will hold. But … " Suddenly it seemed a thought filled him with dread. "What if it doesn't sound right?"

Laughing quietly, I leaned down and intensely whispered, "You have not heard the power of this instrument we stand within. She is alive and tonight she will breathe life into the very soul of music. Never before has the world will have heard such a rich resonance."

Tuthill nodded slowly, a tentative smile beginning to grow beneath his mustache. Tugging his coat into place so it laid perfectly across his stout chest, he turned and made his way out into the halls that would bring him to the public eye.

Clinging to the depth of the shadows, I made certain that out on the stage everything was set. The wooden risers were complete with chairs for the Oratorio Society laid out behind the semicircle of chairs for the Symphony Society, both to take the stage under Damrosch's baton. The podium was central to the stage, the focal point of both great circles of musicians. Everything we could prepare for had been taken care of. Checking the time on my pocket watch, I knew Damrosch was warming them up at this moment. Time was ticking by. It would not be long before the musicians would file in before me to commence the opening of the music festival. We would unleash a splendid array of music unlike any the new world had witnessed before. Unfortunately, I was aware it would not start with a work of great merit. The argument over the first piece of music had been a long and heated one, which I had ultimately been forced to surrender.

Carnegie came up to my side adjusting his bow tie "Is everything ready for the show?"

"Indeed, so it seems." I replied over my shoulder. "You are about to make history."

"You mean _we_ are about to make history." He corrected with a wink. Taking out his pocket watch, he smiled at the time. "The audience is gathering quickly. The absolute cream of society's crop is out there to witness this affair. And what a show we shall provide them with. I intend to have this Music Hall's opening take America's headlines by storm."

"Bold statement," I offered. "But, of those I have come to anticipate from you."

Carnegie laughed quietly. "To gain in life, one must venture forth without reservation. Chances must be taken, bold choices must be made."

Knowing what I did of how Carnegie's great wealth was amassing, I was all too familiar with his bold choices. The man was renowned for ruthlessly having his finger on a pulse that no one else could even find. This very knack built his steel empire step by miraculous step in what would appear to be the taking of insane chances. Until one examined how calculated each and every move had been. The man had either an unyielding streak of luck or an inhuman sense to predict the trending market.

Then, my friend." I checked my own watch. "Let us hope that the calibre upon this stage will not disappoint. It appears that a good majority of Manhattan is buying their way into the hall tonight, despite it having been sold out last week. There will be many to witness the events that shall transpire."

"I cannot wait to behold the festival. Every concert shall be a fantastic triumph!" He smiled warmly. "Between you and Damrosch, there is no way this will fail to meet the high mark we have set."

"Carnegie, how long does it take to get back to box thirty-three?" I slid my eyes between my watch and him.

"In this crowd? Quite some time." He replied casually.

I arched an unseen eyebrow. "And you did not want your presence to detract from the performances this evening?"

"Yes." He grinned, "Which is why I shall not be speaking."

I hinted. "Then you had best get up there. The musicians should be filing onto the stage any moment now, and if you intend to be in your box prior to that, your window of time is closing rapidly."

Carnegie glanced at my watch and his eyes flashed wide, before he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Good luck, Erik. I await your piece at the end of tonight's festivities."

There was no holding back the complex tremble that stole through my tall frame. A mixture of apprehension tinged with what was indeed a hint of excitement ran through my veins. It is not that I had forgotten I would take the stage at the end of the night, it was more that I had been trying to banish that knowledge from my conscious train of thoughts. To continue the rail road analogy, the steel mogul just completely derailed my efforts. I knew if I dared to say even a word my voice would betray me. Instead I merely offered him a bow.

With a youthful spring to his step, Carnegie exited the wing the same way Tuthill had taken. There was no way he would make it to his box before the musician's would take the stage. I hoped that this was the only snag of the evening. The sound of footsteps approaching the wing caught my attention. It was right on time with the lights out in the auditorium flashing bright then dimming. The sign for the audience to take their seats had been given.

Damrosch approached me at the head of the groups, every one of them locked in respectful silence. He glanced out between the crack of the wing door to observe the audience taking their seats and swallowed deeply before turning his eyes up to me. A mere whisper. "Is everything ready?"

I nodded back. "It is. Provided that you are." He took a deep breath and straightened his coat. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I remarked, "Your father would be proud of you for fulfilling his dream tonight. You are ushering in this new age of music where his creations shall forever have a home."

He was forced to swallow the lump in his throat. "Thank you, Erik. That means a lot to me."

"May the spirit of music favor you this night." I extended a hand. He had to shift his baton to his left to grasp in a hearty handshake. "Enjoy it, before you know it, the intermission will be upon you."

Without a further word, I gently pushed the door open to the explosion of light cascading into the wing. The Oratorio Society filed in before me, two-hundred men in black dress suits followed by three-hundred women dressed entirely in white each one wearing a single red rose. I could not help but note the singular significance. No one had known the subject matter of my piece and yet these women appeared as if dressed for it. Once the Oratorio Society was in place, the Symphony Society filed in and took their places to fill every available seat upon the stage. The general polite applause of the audience had lapsed into silence. I was about to give Damrosch his cue to enter, when the musicians on stage burst into sudden, uproarious applause.

In the wing, Damrosch and I exchanged an expression of confusion before I crept up and peeked around the door to see what was happening. Even the audience seemed confused by the sudden applause, until I observed the distinctive figures of Carnegie and his wife taking their seats in the middle of the first tier, box thirty-three. They were surrounded by Madame Damrosch, Tuthill, Holls, Stokes, Hawk, Knevals, Aitken, Rockefeller, Kennedy, Hyde, Coffin, Putney, Kingsland, Hitchcock, Penfold, and a number of other social elite I knew by sight alone. I silently chuckled as I slid back into the shadows. "Carnegie has taken his seat. It appears that did not go unnoticed."

Damrosch shook his head. "I'll wait for the commotion to die down."

"Good idea." We waited for the moments it took for the hall to once more regain silence before Damrosch entered the stage with his baton firmly in hand and his head held high to the renewed applause of over two-thousand people.

He simply turned to the audience and bowed, gesturing the audience to silence itself for the beginning of the program. A tap of his baton on the stand carried throughout the hall before he raised it into the air. As the organ blared the first notes ever played in the hall before a true audience, the stagnant tune of _Old Hundred_ brought the audience to their feet and joining their voices in the performances of both societies as if a congregation attending mass.

In the shadow of the wing, I sighed in annoyance at the choice of this piece. Why select something as mundane as this old relique to open a grand musical hall? That was where the heat of the argument had lain. Damrosch was a deep follower in his father's devotion, that musical substance was inseparable from religion. Thus, the insistence that a religious piece should open the hall. Not that I had issue with a religious piece being first. After all, I found many pieces of religious music breathtaking. However, I begged to differ that _only_ religious music held substance. And consequently, that simply because something was religious it bore substance. This particular piece held no technical merit, the tempo never changed and was reminiscent of a horse in a lugubrious trek before an undertaker's cart. Even performed well, as I had to confess the Societies were doing, it still lacked … well, substance. As each verse plodded onwards, I leaned against the wing's interior wall waiting impatiently for the _real_ music to begin.

"Oh how lovely," Two men came up beside me, one I knew to be Morris Reno, the president of the Music Hall Company of New York. The second, the man who had spoken, was not known to me but I could guess by his attire that it was none other than Bishop Potter who would take part in the dedication ceremony. "Such a fitting piece, don't you think?"

Lingering by the door, I did not answer him. But I noted a subtle change in his regard when his eyes fell upon me. Almost as if he was uncertain what stood before him. Reno and I knew each other well from the meetings. Suiting a gentleman's behavior, he came right up to my side, greeting me quietly. "Evening Erik. Glad to see you here for the festivities."

Ignoring the staring priest, I quietly regarded Reno. "Missing such an auspicious event as this would be a tragedy beyond telling. I trust you have finally prepared your speech?"

He spread his hands wide to the last chords of _Old Hundred._ "Would I be calmly standing here if I hadn't?"

"Excellent." I gestured to the door. "Because it is time for the dedication."

Morris Reno took the stage with confidence. The performers seated themselves as he addressed the audience. "On behalf of our public-spirited founder and all his associates I thank you, and hope that your kind interest will even increase with time, and that there may soon cluster around this building the memory and tradition of numberless artistic triumphs and enjoyments, so that every music lover of this city may regard Music Hall as a true home and temple of art.

"Founded with the loftiest purposes, free from all disturbing private interests, devoted solely to the highest ideals of art—such is Music Hall, and such, we fondly hope, may it remain forever!" The applause was deafening as Reno held up his hands for silence. "And now may I present Bishop Potter who will deliver tonight's oration."

Beside me, the Bishop hesitated as I gently pushed open the door for him. After a moment's pause, I gestured out the door. "They are waiting for you." I noted with grimness that as he passed through the doorway it was as far as he possibly could get from me. Would wonders never cease?

Taking center stage before the audience and lit by the limelight the Bishop began his oration. Staring at my pocket watch, I observed the slow ticking of the seconds as it seemed that time itself was standing still. I willed it to pass, so we could get into the real reason the public was in attendance—the music, the _real_ music!

His voice droned onwards, seemingly for eternity. "Let us be thankful tonight that melancholy era has ended. The hour had come, and it only needed the man. And then, therefore, came the man. We are not accustomed to associate with Scotland the highest capabilities of music."

What a crass statement from a man who found _Old Hundred_ lovely.

"If you are ever a guest at a Scottish castle I can desire no better thing for you than that you should survive the welcome of the bagpipes.

"But a Scotchman, transplanted to America and regenerated by our freer and more melodious associations, a Scotchman imbued with the spirit of 'triumphant democracy'—what may we not do with him, and what may he not do for us?"

 _Get on with it!_

"It is a happy omen for New York that a single individual can do so princely a thing in so modest a way, and I am sure that you will unite with me in those gratified and unstinted congratulations which we all desire to offer him. Happy the man who can use his wealth to widen human happiness, and happier he who elects to do so in a beneficence at once so felicitous and far reaching.

"Men and women of New York, we bring this finished work to you. Generously cherish, conserve and use it for its highest ends. In the name and behalf of the President and the Directors of the Music Hall of New York, I pronounce this building open, and henceforth dedicate and set it apart to the noble ends for which it was erected."

At once the Oratorio burst out in _America._ The audience rose to their feet and joined in the verse. At the completion of which was uproarious applause. The main performance was about to begin. And if you asked me it was about bloody time!

Damrosch lifted his baton and the Symphony Society simply filled the hall with the melodious strains of Beethoven's _Lenore No. III_. Out in the main auditorium I knew the audience was bathed in all the glory of this masterpiece as it should be heard! This was true music, it changed and altered the conscious. It drove the emotions precisely where the composer wished, whether the listener desired to or not, there was no way not to be moved.

I smiled, every part of my being was awash in the glow of this music as it ascended to the heavens in a spiral of notes that continued a torrential upward climb til the final thunderous ending. The hall was dashed into a moment's silence before the audience burst into applause. It seemed like such a long wait with only one piece of true music before the intermission, but we had accurately accounted for the lengthy oration. The audience needed time to stretch before the final pieces. The musicians filed off the stage as the audience took out to the lobby to mingle and discuss, to see and be seen. I remained in the wing, hidden by the shadow cast from the door, I glanced out into the hall, brightly gleaming in her glory, the circlet of star-like lights shining in her central dome. This was truly a temple of music, a true stage to the glory of this art, the art of moving hearts and influencing spirits.

Before I knew it, once more everyone was taking their seats for the real treat of the evening. It was with no small pleasure I discovered Tchaikovsky approaching the wing to await his entrance. He came right up beside me, smiling from ear to ear. Keeping his voice down, he leaned over and whispered in Russian. "The acoustics here are unrivaled by any hall in the whole of Europe. Even the palace in Russia is put to shame."

I offered him a bow. "Once more I am honored by your esteemed approval, Tchaikovsky. It shall be wonderful to hear your very music grace her halls soon. A piece written specifically for this hall, so Damrosch tells me?"

Tchaikovsky glanced away before replying with a wring of his hands. "Yes."

Eyeing him, I was curious what invoked such a tentative response. But there was no chance to inquire as I heard Damrosch address the audience. "And so I present all the way from Russia to direct a piece written for Music Hall's debut the _Marche Solennelle_ , the great Tchaikovsky!"

As he stepped out onto the stage, the foundations of the hall seemed to shake with the applause. Reaching out to take over the baton from Damrosch, he assumed his place with a mighty bow to the crowd before turning to the waiting orchestra. The lift of his baton dashed the hall into silence before the first notes erupted into the air.

There was no shortage of confusion on my part as I listened to the strangely familiar work. I had heard this before. It was indeed a work of Tchaikovsky's, but new? No. This was the piece for Tsar Alexander the III's coronation march under a different name! Oh, Tchaikovsky, what a clever man!

It was rendered no less spectacular by the deception. And what more fitting a piece than one meant for the crowning of a king! At the podium, Tchaikovsky was absolutely alive with his composition. Each stroke of the baton keying into the orchestra to signal each movement, each critical textural detail brought forth. There was nothing like having the composer himself standing before the grand instrument that brought his creation to life. For who better to understand the deep feelings. As the final dramatic flare burst forth to the roll of the tympani, the hall erupted into even grander applause! Tchaikovsky was forced to bow several times before at last simply handing over the baton to Damrosch so he could proceed. There was one more piece to present before the closing solos. Joining me in the wings, Tchaikovsky was amazed, "What a warm welcome! What a thunderous applause! What a wonderful place!"

I could feel the heat shedding from the stage that had produced the sweat running down in rivulets from his brow. "What an astonishingly familiar piece of music." I winked at him.

"I … uhh … ohh." Tchaikovsky glanced away. "It was _that_ obvious?"

"The coronation march?" I shrugged. "A little, but if any more did recognize it, I doubt they will mind. The sheer chance to see you here conducting your own piece is treat beyond compare." Behind us the first movement of _Te Deum_ filled the hall. This work was an epic masterpiece, by Berlioz. To render this performance Damrosch had to split the Oratorio Society into three choirs. This was a daunting piece. And I regretted having to miss some of it, but I needed to warm up down in the recital hall. With the rise in temperature of the hall, there was no doubt the strings would need adjusting.

As if on cue Christine entered the wing. Quietly as possible she made her way to my side where Tchaikovsky's eyes widened at the vision before him. "Erik, you said to find you when _Te Deum_ commenced. Are we to warm up?"

"Indeed, my dear." I was about to step off when Tchaikovsky grabbed my arm to stop me.

"Erik," he spoke in hushed Russian. "Is this the lady of which you spoke?"

"None other." I replied.

His eyes fully took her in from head to floor brushing ruffle. "If her voice is but a shadow of her physical beauty … "

"Just wait, my friend." I winked. "And I suggest you have a handkerchief ready. Now forgive me, but I have three instruments to finely tune."

"Three?" He asked.

"Yes; my violin, her voice, and mine." Turning once more to Christine I gestured to the door that would lead us to the recital hall. "Right this way, my dear." As I picked up my violin case on the way out she leaned over to ask.

"Was that Tchaikovsky?"

"Yes, pleasant fellow really. Wonderfully skilled composer." We strolled down the quiet hallway. With everyone in the auditorium, behind the scenes the halls were almost deserted.

She glanced back over her shoulder astonished. "You spoke as if you were old friends."

"We are acquaintances, that is true; but the unity of music renders us old friends."

"That was Tchaikovsky." She muttered once more in amazement.

I laughed. "If you should wish to speak with him, he shall be around for the remainder of the festival. And I can assure you, he is not hung up on ridiculous formalities. Just walk up and introduce yourself."

"Is that what you did?" She asked as we entered the recital hall.

While I removed my violin and began to tune her I shook my head. "I let my music do the talking for me. Of course, I had not known I had a listener at the time. But it mattered not. His English is surprisingly good, but he did appreciate the comfort of his native tongue."

Christine smiled as I rambled on, until at last I was satisfied with the tuning. "Shall we begin at the entrance?"

I replied forcefully, "No." Taking a deep breath I shook my head to soften the gut reaction. "I do not wish to render the piece until we are on stage, my dear. Let us just work some exercises."

She nodded, her fingers gently playing with the folds of her dress. My bow drew across the strings for our first exercise. At a nod from me, she hit her entrance as I joined, our voices fusing into one. Time had tarnished nothing we had once possessed. Endless scales, endless exercises played out on my violin as we stretched our vocal chords to their full extent. Before long we were both on our feet, caught up in the fire of creation. I found myself jealously guarding her, not wanting to share her with the world above. And yet, just like the automaton in my study, what good was music if it was not heard?

Three-quarters of an hour had passed, Damrosch would have finished by now and the solo instrumentalist would be taking the stage any moment. Picking up the nightingale mask I quickly switched it with my plain white one.

"How does it look?" I turned to Christine holding my arms out, the cloak falling wide.

"Stunning, those gems will positively shine in the limelight."

"And so shall you, my dear. We should get back upstairs, it is almost time for our entrance." Inside my chest, I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs, the strange sensation filling me once more. Before I knew it, we were once more behind the wing. Our timing could not have been closer, for the applause filled the hall as the soloist came through the door into the wing a moment later.

Christine took a deep breath beside me, composing herself with a great smile, overflowing with excitement. The ray of light from the stage caught her through the door, causing the silken threads of her gown to shimmer. Still cast in shadow, I felt a little tremble ripple through me. I needed more time to compose myself, I was beginning to doubt there was enough time in all the world to compose myself!

At the door, Damrosch gestured to Christine who stepped out into the light to my horror. I wasn't ready! When I held back, Damrosch threw a quick gesture to hurry from where I stood, frozen with my violin and bow in hand. "Erik!" His hushed voice cut into me. "It's your time!"

Ready or not, I had no choice. I could not embarrass Christine. Swallowing my pride, I forced my feet to carry me towards that shaft of light cutting through the darkness of the wings. The stage lights had been dimmed in between, leaving the space darkened as we walked out to stand before the empty stage chairs where the societies had been.

Central on the stage, we were separated by a short distance where each of the limelights was to focus on us. However, by some strange fluke they were still dark. Devoid of the filter of light, I saw into the darkness of the hall to the audience, thousands of eyes staring critically at our unlit figures. I felt my breathing shallow and coming quicker than I desired, as self doubt began to weaken my resolve. But there was no going back now.

I forced my breathing to still as I tucked the Stradivarius under my chin and brought the bow up resting it on the strings. My eyes shut in the darkness as I called to mind not the notes, but the feeling I would soon invoke in the audience. That all consuming sense of longing, the deep raw emotion of _Forbidden_. With a faint tremble, I pulled the bow across the strings. The bitter sweet vibrations reached out into the hall in a long somber tone that filled every corner. Pushing onward, the melody built for a full two measures before the hasty cast of the limelight shown through my closed eyelids. I could not help but sway slowly to the rhythm of the captivating music, even as I drew the bow over the strings. The world soon became lost to me; I was the outcast in that mythical garden, worn and weary from the search of a lifetime. I was that nightingale. As the introduction reached its final measure, I took a deep breath and gave voice for the first time.

 _In the midst of night's vale_

 _The bold nightingale_

 _Laid to rest his weary bones_

 _Worn out by his plight_

 _A desperate flight_

 _A quest for his destiny._

It was no small effort, but I recalled Tchaikovsky's advice, realizing my eyes were shutting out the world. I had to open them. It took a mighty will to overcome the instinct to keep them shrouded. Before I launched into the growth of the next stanza, I forced them open to the glaring light casting down upon me in a blinding shaft.

 _To find and to hold_

 _The greatest of love_

 _No matter the compromise_

 _Beneath the moon's cast_

 _His great strength at last_

 _Abandoned his spirit bold._

I could see nothing other than that ray of light, the eyes out there in the crowd had all vanished, obscured by the garish lights. It lent me a little more confidence in my last verse before Christine's voice would take over. So with increased fervor I launched into the last verse, adding to the plain melody the subtle secondary grace notes both on the violin and vocally.

 _Had he but known_

 _The bud of the rose_

 _Pure as the whitest snow_

 _The garden would shield_

 _With leaves that won't yield_

 _For fear of the world beyond._

Across the stage stood the rose to my nightingale. She was ever beyond my grasp, hopelessly out of reach. No amount of desire would ever unite us. Pouring the emotions into the bow, I let the violin tell of my sorrow. The space of a few measures carried over the hall as the melody broke back down to the initial simpler one, minus the grace notes that would build unique to her counter melody. I tried to brace myself for her first notes, but the moment she lent her voice to my song, I felt the sting of pain that separated us.

 _The despairing voice_

 _She heard without choice_

 _Sending her heart alight_

 _Though deep down inside_

 _She trembled in spite_

 _Yearning to turn to him._

Her voice was shimmering, purposefully trembling with the theatrical trepidation of the rose's emotions. The twisted thorny branches that make up a forbidden love, sharp and forbidding even while they embraced. Her voice reached deep within me as she approached the edge of the stage, her hands reaching out to the audience as if to grasp them!

 _As his song gripped her soul_

 _She challenged her role_

 _Though her leaves withheld_

 _Any sign of her desire_

 _Concealed within her spire_

 _Her heart remained closed to him._

Turning from them and me, she faced stage left shielding her face from all, like the rose she described. Her movements torturously slowed to match the cadence of the music. The entrance to her next verse began softly only to swell back relentlessly by the end, the grace notes magically encircling the melody.

 _Night after night_

 _Song upon song_

 _Relentless his calls to her_

 _Every promise he made_

 _Still she would remain_

 _Ever turned from his advance._

My bow was feverishly building as I played my melody and hers simultaneously. A sampling of counter-melody grace notes were released by the spread of my fingers. Ever increasing in difficulty, I was readily losing myself to the emotions within. Desperation was no grand leap as I found my hands straining to reach the complex combinations I had arrogantly created. Inside myself, as I glanced across the stage at Christine, I felt an overwhelming urge to just seize her, to steal my beloved rose before once more the world took her from my sight. Spurned on by my inner struggle, I burst out in song.

 _The cast of the moon_

 _The turn of the stars_

 _Seemed to chase the world around_

 _Still he would return_

 _Showering every word_

 _Yearning for her glance._

Yearn I did, beckoning with bow and voice. All my spirit flung headlong as I wildly swung about stage right, my cloak flying with my motions like great wings as I begged and pleaded.

 _Turn to me, He sang_

 _Casting forth his voice it rang_

 _Shine for me, my dear!_

 _Do not deny the world_

 _What lies inside you_

 _I can see you there_

But she did not turn to me, Christine's eyes remained cast to stage left. Shutting all the world out under the glow of the lights, I could see her blush. Desperation overtook my tone as I broke with a powerful surge into my own counter-melody. Even our rehearsals had not approached a shred of this much raw emotion. I was invested in making her turn to me! It suddenly seemed as though there was no hope for my poor heart as I entered the next verse.

 _Trembling forth within refrain_

 _Bursting in his strain_

 _He pursued his dream_

 _Ignoring the dire_

 _Flying through the fire_

 _He once more advanced._

I twisted around her still figure, we seemed to dance as I played the violin, encircling the rose as she ever turned from me. Time and again, her face rejected the advances just as the story told. At last, in the fevered pitch of the frenzy of notes Christine gave voice to her next verse.

 _And so in time it came_

 _She felt him perch_

 _Upon her very thorns_

 _Pressing to feel her caress_

 _The sharpened thorn pierced his breast_

 _As she at last turned to him._

I was close to her, the wings of my cloak brushing the petals of her dress as she ever so slightly lifted her chin. There was a painfully gradual turn of her gaze towards me as I relentlessly poured out the wild accompaniment on the Stradivarius. Close enough to touch, though we did not, we both tore into the counter melody as our eyes met. Staring deep into her blue, soulful eyes, I felt as never before a sudden release completely overwhelming and all consuming. It was as though someone had touched a candle to my heart within my chest. Instead of painful, it was exhilarating

 _Stirred by his deep desire_

 _Alighting in his fire_

 _Her petals opened in the rain of blood_

 _Open to his promise from above_

 _She beheld his boldest love_

 _In his final sacrifice._

Circling each other, the world beyond the stage ceased to exist. It was just us two. There was nothing more as I continued to complicate the pattern of notes on the strings. Vocally, we were locked in a tight counterpoint, rising and falling in desperation. Any moment would be our last … and for one of us, it would be.

 _The courage to open to the world_

 _Spurned on by the beloved bird_

 _Devoted to but seeing her_

 _At last within her gaze_

 _His mighty eyes would glaze_

 _She his final sight._

It had not been my intention, but as I stepped to my right, my foot slipped and I found myself upon my knees beside her. Remarkably I had maintained the accompaniment as I gazed up at Christine's worried face. All part of the act, I thought. My eyes flicked a glance to her assuring her that I was alright, the bow's motions instructing her to go on.

 _And so it would remain_

 _The forbidden desire_

 _Doomed to fate_

 _The purest rose to bloom_

 _Stained by love's true wound_

 _Of the nightingale's strain._

From my knees on the floor, I was gazing longingly to Christine who played into the accident, leaning over me just out of reach as I sang my last, before relenting to vocal silence, the nightingale's voice failing while the roses splendor endured.

 _Throughout the world's affair_

 _None could e'er compare_

 _To the sorrow held_

 _Deep in her forbidden bloom_

 _Of the love that consumed_

 _Displayed in the memory of the red rose._

My bow, quivering across the strings, drew out the final measure as I remained on my knees. Silence descended. A long pregnant silence which left me nervous, but I dared not look up from the stage floor as I tried to catch my breath. I had poured everything into that piece. I had fully lowered the violin to my side before the first tentative clapping broke the silence followed by a resounding applause louder than any heard that night. Every performer knew that grandest gesture was to be greeted by absolute silence at the end of a performance. It meant the audience had been quite literally overwhelmed.

Stealing a glance to Christine, I was awash in shock. Above me she had her hand to her chest, gasping for breath and smiling broadly. Shakily I climbed to my feet, the violin hanging limply in my astonished grasp, passing the bow to my left hand I had to steady myself with my right to my chest. The applause just continued as the audience gave us a standing ovation behind the barrier of the lights. Glancing to one another, we took a step forward to take a bow. I reached my right hand into the air only to find it grasped! In a panic, I looked up to find Christine's left hand holding mine aloft before she grinned at me. My heart thundered in my chest, drowning the applause out. I felt that surge again, increased by the contact. My angel was touching me! She had actually taken my hand, in public, on stage, before an audience of thousands! Was this real? Or was I still kneeling on the stage, dreaming? Before I knew it, I felt the pressure of her bow drag against my arm, pulling me down into a less than elegant bow.

This was _real_! Returning upright, we glanced to each other and bowed once more, this time in unison. When the audience refused to stop clapping, we did one more and as I hung there for a moment looking at the stage, my eye caught the most unexpected sight. Something was missing. Christine's left hand should have born a wedding ring. But her ring finger was bared. Odd! Coming up from the bow, we made our way off to the wing, despite the continued applause and a relentless calling of "Encore!"

I leaned against the wall, breathless and overcome. My eyes stared sightlessly to the ceiling. This was unreal … the entire event. I was reeling when suddenly the air was crushed from my lungs by an over-exuberant vocalist!

"Erik! That was completely marvelous! What a masterpiece!"

"Ack! Christine!" I gasped, "I cannot breathe!"

"Not an attack again." Crying out in sudden concern, she embraced me tighter

"No, my dear." I extracted myself from her grasp. "You are crushing me!"

She backed up, blushing and grinning with excitement. "Sorry, it's just it has been years since I have felt anything so deep! Oh Erik, I have been lost without your inspiration! That was so … alive!" She was unable to contain herself.

In my exhaustion, I had nothing for a reply. I was still fighting to regain my breath when a hand grasped my arm and dragged me relentlessly back out the wing door. I discovered it was Damrosch, quite literally pulling both Christine and myself back before the audience, which exploded once more in boisterous applause. The cries for an encore were rising to the ceiling as we stood there staring at each other, at a loss for words.

Damrosch held up his arms to quell the din. Once he had enough to be heard he called out, "Ladies and Gentlemen. You have witnessed the American debut of Madame Christine Daae and Monsieur Erik on this very stage, performing one of his own works. We had not anticipated such a landmark of a piece this evening as even _we_ had not been given the privilege of a preview. Given the response I beg you all to await tomorrow when the two shall perform again, and every night of this festival!"

My eyes flashed wide in shock, I had only promised to perform once! The audience's cheering covered my desperate pleas as I turned my back on them to face Damrosch. "I do not have anything else prepared! Damrosch, there is no way I can plan five more pieces!"

He shrugged and smiled at me. "Do you wish to disappoint them?" Behind me I was well aware a veritable mob was standing, demanding more!

I swallowed deeply, turning to meet Christine's gaze as she beamed in the limelight, aglow in the glory of the moment. They wanted more. But there was no time. I took a deep breath, bowing my head for a moment. Somehow I would have to pull something together.

Raising my hands for silence, I addressed the packed hall. "Madames, mademoiselles and monsieurs. I regret to inform you that I had not planned on more than one performance." The reaction from the crowd was an explosion of fury. Frantically I held my hands up once more calling for silence. "However, however—that does not mean your request shall be denied. Madame Daae and myself will not have time sufficient to work up another piece, but if it should please the audience we shall reprise _Forbidden_ at each concert with more added to each rendition. This means that over the course of the festival, you shall not experience the same performance twice. Will that please the audience?"

The roar of applause returned as I looked to Christine with a smile. It would have to do. Each night we would need to make the experience grander.

"By the final performance," I promised, taking Christine's hand in my own as I addressed the audience, "there shall not be a dry eye in this hall!"

* * *

 _Author's note: Details about the opening nights have been collected from newspaper reviews and correspondence with the Carnegie Hall Museum. This includes the attire of the Oratorio singers, Tuthill being nervous about the place collapsing, Carnegie arriving late to his seat, the questions Tchaikovski asked which had been written on a piece of paper when he came to America for these concerts and the nature of the first piece he directed-yes, he pulled a sly one and very few caught it! In future chapters I have also woven in information from the reviews and even the weather reports of the days.  
_


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter 19**_

Four little letters. Well actually, not so little when employed in my elaborate signature. Over the years of business, my simplistic singular name gained one artistic flourish after another until it was its own work of art. I pitied anyone who attempted to forge my signature, even if they should be left handed. The characteristic swirls I tossed into the E alone were intricate enough to drive a copy-artist insane. Signing the final paycheck for my crew of diligent workers, I laid it atop the stack to be delivered, logging the amount in my ledger. Row after row of neat numbers lined the page. My budget had been well documented over the course of the years. For a period of time there had been concern I may have needed to shift funds from one of my other industries to cover expenses. That was all rectified when a long overdue account was brought current. Amazing how quickly matters can be settled with a little suggestion, that settling in court would be entirely unnecessary if the property in question simply vanished. Sipping the Russian tea that waited on my desk while I had been performing my bookkeeping duties, I double checked my calculations until I was satisfied.

Closing the heavy ledger, I threw an inconspicuous glance to my chamber door to glimpse the shadow that had been distracting me for the last few minutes. Not wanting to spoil the game yet, I picked up the paper to search for last night's review. My peripheral vision tracked the almost imperceptible motions as I skimmed the article peppered with embroidery that spanned the first two entire columns of The Sun under the title of A Rare Musical Event. Taking another sip of my tea, I smiled as the article described Damrosch's vibrant performance and Tchaikovsky's energetic movements while he had conducted. It was overall a fairly decent review of the evening including sketches of some of the more notable people involved. I was more than a little relieved to see there had been no mention nor artistic rendering of myself. Though of course, I had hoped for some mention of Christine. Her performance warranted some kind of recognition. Tonight's performance was _Elijah_ , and did not include Tchaikovsky. It was my hope that tonight the press might favor my angel. Meanwhile, from my chamber the small shadow continued trying to creep quietly, one painfully hesitant step at a time. He was trying _so_ hard, I almost hated to spoil the fun.

"That is a rather unique interpretation of the instructions to wait in bed until your mother returned with your lunch. Would you not say so Charles?"

He froze in place a mere three steps out of the door. The realization that he had been caught washed over him as his arms fell limply at his sides. "I was tired of waiting. It's been an eternity."

A quick glance at the mantel clock afforded me the truth as I neatly folded the paper and set it aside. "It has been ten minutes since she went downstairs. That hardly qualifies as an eternity."

Scuffing his foot on the floor, he protested. "I'm tired of lying down and resting. I wanna see your house."

Leaning back in my chair, I clicked my tongue at him. "Patience, young Charles. We cannot readily have what we desire at every moment in our lives. Some things take time. Such as healing. You are fortunate that the infection cleared up and the wound is knitting nicely." He had been confined to rest for a long time. Truly, it was no wonder he was ready to explore his new surroundings. After all, he was young and bore an insatiable curiosity, something I was well acquainted with myself.

He sighed. "Don't make me go back to bed, Monsieur Erik. Please? I'll be good."

I couldn't help the crooked smile. "You are up now, it seems rather pointless to put you back."

As he looked up from across the room, I saw his eyes brighten at the unspoken promise I had just made. As though I had given him permission, he walked further into the study taking it in from a different angle than before. Though he had seen this room from his confinement on my couch, he had not been able to walk around. His eyes now touched everything!

"There is a price for me to over look this." I added as I leaned on one elbow. "The next time I ask something of you I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Monsieur." His feet carried him step by distracted step towards my Steinway where his long fingers reached out as if drawn by an invisible force. It was a sensation I knew all too well, the lure that gripped the heart and, in a near literal sense, carried me step by step toward an instrument with the overwhelming urge to pour out some secret melody. Even as I observed him, I had no doubts that he was experiencing the same innate magical spell, the irresistible desire to release the inner force of creation. It was beautiful, and yet a little unnerving to see my own experience displayed in another.

Standing by the keys, his hand reached out painstakingly slowly before it hovered there, just a fraction of air between his skin and the ivory. Silently, I climbed to my feet and began to cross the room, awaiting the moment when he would inevitably give in to the temptation. At long last the fingers met the keys and the piano's strings called out to his tentative will. The first chord was not enough, his fingers slid to another, then another, the tempo building as he gained confidence. The song was simple, not any composition I had heard and I wondered if it was something of his own. There was promise with maturity in the combinations of notes. This natural skill would deepen in time and clearly longed to produce astonishing music. Like myself, he commanded an innate comprehension of how music flowed.

Lower on the keyboard, I slid my left hand onto the keys and saw him freeze. "It is alright, just watch what I do, I want you to try this where your hand is. Ready?"

He nodded, his hand shifting to mimic mine only on his placement on the keys. I kept the pattern fairly simple for this first exercise, a series of eight chords all spaced equally. Nothing terribly complex. He watched my hand until it stilled, then shifted his eyes to his own set of keys. Note for note he played the sequence only just under tempo. I remembered that Christine had banned him from music but I wondered just how successful she had been in _truly_ keeping him from self expression. These hands were not strangers to these keys! No more than mine were.

"Alright, that was a simple one. Let us try both hands now and something with a little tempo change." Having an idea of where his skill level was approaching, I let things get a little more complicated.

It took a moment of silence for him to ponder the sequence I had rendered. But undaunted he replicated it once more only a fraction slower. That difference was forgivable, for now. Once finished he looked up at me, a hesitant grin on his face.

"Well, now Charles. That seemed a little too easy for you. Have you played 'chase the keys'?"

"No, I'm not usually allowed to play the piano."

Striking a chord, I replied, "My piano, my rules. Here is how it is done. I will lead and you try to follow the pattern as best you can. The sequence will be predictable enough. You win when you can keep up with me and play at the same time." I had only just made this game up, but he didn't need to know.

The grin widened as he leaned over the keys, eager to try. "Ready."

"Alright." I started out keeping the sequence simple and soon found Charles's higher chords nipping just beneath my lower ones. As he got closer to matching my tempo, I threw him a mischievous grin and altered the notes.

"You're cheating!" He grinned back, trying to find the new pattern.

"My rules," I retorted. "The shift is subtle, find it." He was rapidly adapting when I sped up the tempo on him only to see his grin widening in response. He was enjoying this challenge! "Come on, catch me!"

"Oh, I'll get it!" He was speeding up and his accuracy was incredible. We weren't playing Mozart calibre music yet, but we were also well beyond the level of most eight year old's. This boy clearly was gifted.

"Alright, continue on what you are doing. I want to try something." As he kept up the tempo, I shifted to a counter-melody, my eyes and ears ensuring that he was capable of holding his part. To my delight, he held it and on the coda he began to add some notes of his own. Soon we were both improvising new alterations until the initial piece was long buried in the new variations we had concocted. What had begun as a simple challenge had grown into an elaborate chain of harmonies pouring forth from the hands of a sixty year old and his eight year old son.

Wide-eyed, Christine stood at the door, unable to move forward, Charles's lunch tray gripped in her hands. I tossed her a quick glance without ceasing the musical downpour. "Are you listening to this? Christine, he is an absolute prodigy. This type of skill level should take ages to develop for the average person."

Excitement bubbled over in the boy as he continued to pound on the keys. "Mother, listen! Listen to what we're doing! Isn't it pretty?"

Setting the tray on the table, she approached the piano to watch our fingers dancing in tandem across the keys. Speechless, her eyes remained locked on her son's hands.

He was giggling with delight as the musical theme built and flowed, spurned on by my subtle efforts beside him. This was simply playing for the sake of playing, the sheer thrill of letting the heart navigate the keys. "Mother," Charles looked up at her, his fingers at last withdrawing from the keys as he reached up to embrace her. "I want a piano! I want to play like he does. Can I have a piano, Mother?"

Casting her still wide eyes over the boy, she took a very long pause before replying. "You know what I told you, Charles."

"But why?" He protested, drawing back from her far enough to let his glare be seen. "Why can't I play?"

"Yes." I added as I stood up behind the boy, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Why not? There is no logical reason why his gift should not be allowed to flourish."

He smiled up at me hopefully, even as Christine's sorrowful voice spoke, "Erik, you know the reason."

I flicked my hand to the side. "A ridiculous one, my dear. If you do not grant him permission to play, I shall simply have to ensure he has access to his very own piano by method of a gift." Her expression darkened with worry as she was about to protest, her hands forced to hold the boy from jumping up and down in excitement. "Christine, you know what I told you of the development of such gifts, and the impossibility of suppressing them." I reached out to brush a stray curl from her cheek with my fingertips, last night's embrace having banished any trepidations of contact between us. "Do not be cruel and deny him the chance to realize his potential. If any know the dangers of such a fate it is I."

Before she had a chance to reply, I felt a persistent tug at my sleeve. "Can we look at your house now?" Charles begged.

Gesturing back to the tray, Christine replied. "You need to eat the lunch I brought up first."

"Mother." He groaned. "I'm not hungry. I want to walk around, please!"

To hide my amusement, I was forced to turn away from the two, only to find Christine's hand grabbing my arm to reengage me. I wasn't altogether prepared for the lecture I received from the slightly built woman before me. "Oh no you don't! You started this by encouraging the boy. You aren't going to leave this to me for sorting out!"

I shifted my eyes from her down to Charles, who now had locked his ever hopeful gaze upon me, silently pleading for his wish to be fulfilled. How could I deny him? With a shrug, I replied simply, "Lunch will not come to any harm waiting for our return. Shall we start with the main floor?" The overjoyed reply from young Charles was accompanied by an accusing glare from his mother. Placing a hand upon her shoulder, I grinned. "You should have left me out of it."

"Erik," She replied in an unbecomingly low growl. "You'll spoil him."

"Someone has to." I quipped back as I walked out of the room. Beside me Charles was dancing in delight, eager to see the halls beyond my study. Behind me, I felt Christine following along. Before we even reached the grand staircase her temper had simmered. I reached down and swung Charles up onto my shoulders. "Let us not leave things to chance. You ride up there til we reach the bottom. Hold on tight." He gripped my hands as we descended the flight of stone steps. I could not see him, but I could feel his weight shifting as he looked all around.

"Mother, look at the beautiful chandelier hanging from the ceiling!" He leaned back as we reached the bottom of the steps. "Oooo! And that neat carving, look mother there's a squirrel in the stone. That's neat!"

Christine chuckled. "Yes, you will find many creatures scattered about the stonework. Erik has a fine eye for details in his designs."

As I set Charles down on the Persian rug that lined the entry, he looked up at me in amazement. "You built this place?"

"Not entirely on my own." I confessed as I began to walk toward the ball room to the rear of the house. Heaven knew why I bothered to put one in. I never intended to actually throw a party. The windowed chamber had an elegantly arched ceiling complete with a delicate crystal chandelier in the central star-studded carving was an artistic achievement I could not have left out. It was classically elegant and housed yet another piano. This one was the least used due to its location. "I designed the entire house, but did utilize my masons to help me construct the building."

Charles was spinning in the middle of the polished ball room floor with his arms wide. "I like the pretty marble in here. Where did you find it with red?"

White marble columns veined in a deep red formed the supports. Running my hand over the stone I replied, "Imported from Italy."

"It's pretty!" He turned and sniffed the air. The scent from the kitchen drifted in and he began to follow his nose. Christine and I silently followed him as he stuck his head through the door to see the brick and mortar cooking hearth. Turning on a spit over the fire was a whole chicken being tended by the chef, patiently brushing on a citrus glaze. Perhaps I would eat dinner tonight, this was one of my favorite dishes.

"Smells wonderful." Charles licked his lips.

"I thought you weren't hungry." From above him, Christine narrowed her eyes causing the boy to offer her a sheepish grin. It didn't take long before the eager young boy was off to find the adjoining formal dining room. A long, dark oak table ornately carved with matching chairs filled the room. The walls were a deep red gilded with gold leaf accents on the carvings. A few select paintings I had acquired here on the shores of America lined the walls. Tucked off to the side, he explored the quiet sitting room where I conducted my business meetings before the large fireplace with its intimate high-back chairs. The parlor being a small room, the décor was dark and simple which failed to keep him interested for long.

He moved on to the music room where his inquisitive eyes could not seem to settle on a single object for any length of time. "Whoa … " Stepping inside, he ran his hands over all the musical scores, walked beside the Steinway piano, rubbing his fingers along the stand of my floor candelabra. A shower of musical notes rained down as his fingers brushed the strings of my Irish harp. "It's like a piano, but without the keys!"

"Similar, the strings are plucked instead of struck, lending a different quality to the music."

His eyes searched the room. "Do you have a flute? I've always wanted to try one."

"No, I do not." … _because I am incapable of playing one._

Undeterred, he drifted from shelf to shelf of musical scores, he was absolutely captivated by this singular room. "So much music, it must be all the music in the world!"

Christine's laughter precipitated my reply.

"Not quite all the music." My own eyes traversed the shelves that lined the walls. "But a good deal of it. To say I am a collector is a bit of an understatement."

"How long did it take you to get all these?" He studied the notes of the score laying open on the piano. _Forbidden_ it was, the staffs and notes in my own distinctive red inked hand.

"Many many years, young Charles." I smiled fondly. "Longer than you have been in existence."

I let him explore the room in silence for a long time until I noted that he would never loose interest in the contents of this room. Reaching out, I bade him come to me. "There is more to see. Come, we can return here later."

With reluctance, he followed me out of the room past Nadir's door. That remained shut to him. I respected Nadir enough not to include his private rooms as part of the tour.

Carrying him back upstairs to the second floor, we of course skipped the study he had spent so much time in. Instead I showed him the vast bathing chamber with the gray and black marble bath. It was the opulence I had found in Persia. Amazed by all the reflective surfaces the rest of the house was devoid of, he was grinning at himself while shifting back and forth to watch the distortions. I reveled in the warmth of contact as Christine took my hand in hers while she watched, smiling fondly as her son played with the faucets.

A short stroll down the hall brought us to my library, the great expanse lined floor to ceiling with books. For the center, I had commissioned a large mahogany table similar to my drafting desk. The fireplace in this room took up most of a wall with comfortable leather chairs set before it. Gargoyle statues perched upon the support pillars of this vast room, the room that held my ever growing collection. Some of these books had been in my possession in Paris, packed away and shipped to America amidst my hasty departure. Poetry from the far east to the bardic mythology of the Gallic nations. Edgar Allen Poe joined the ranks when I discovered his writing on these shores. Hugo always brought a welcome tone whenever I longed for the rolling flow of my native tongue. I could pick up _Les Miserables_ if I longed to remember why I left that turbulent countryside behind. I had novels from many countries and origins including selections from Dickens. Science books of various topics and ages found a place on my shelves, everything from human anatomy and physiology to herbal properties. Even Darwin's vast volumes of _The Origin of Species_. Philosophy books, ranging the scope of the greatest minds of the past centuries, lined the walls. Long hours of solitude during the winter, when construction was impossible, left me plenty of time to read by the flickering fireside.

Charles became captivated by the statues leering above him. He squatted down and tried to mimic their dramatically frightening poses while Christine and I fought back our laughter at his cutely savage growls. He reminded me of one of those little lapdogs, threatening everything around him utterly unaware of how small he actually is.

We made our way to the third story where Charles combed through my laboratory. I had made him promise not to touch anything before we entered. His fingers contacted nothing, while his eyes touched every object in the room! From the gas burners to the glass tubing I used to condense and distill fluids, eudiometers and Erlenmeyer flasks lined the marble work counters beside mortar and pestles. Samples of dried herbs and ingredients resided in racks waiting to be used. Even the old metallic syringe from my morphine addiction winked from high on a shelf where I had abandoned it. I hadn't used it since Paris, when I had extinguished the horrid habit. But I was unsure if it should ever come in handy for some other purpose.

"Do you do things in here?" Charles asked as he stared at a glass tube full of fluid.

Leaning on the counter, I nodded. "Yes, I use the laboratory to concoct a variety of things, including the sleeping draught you have been taking. I make a number of devices in here as well, like the machine that made the electricity for you."

"That was neat!" He grinned. "Will you show me how to build one of those?"

Christine gripped my hand. A gesture which I promptly ignored. "Of course I will. It shall have to wait until the concerts are over." There was a distinct resigned sigh issuing from behind me.

His gaze caught the large solarium I had built into the southwestern corner of the third story for the sole purpose of growing my herbs. It had become essential early on to have the ability to control the climate these delicate plants were raised in. If the crop died, I had to go to the trouble of locating new shoots for the essential ingredients to many of my concoctions. The wide panes of glass let in ample light for proper growth. Being located on the uppermost floor of my house meant the heat collected here, nurturing the plants even in the coldest of winters.

When we emerged on the rooftop, I watched his eyes spring wide with wonder at the scape of the city sprawling before every corner. My once breathtaking rooftop garden had lost much of its interest due to the fact that most of the plants entirely lacked blooms and buds. While the boy studied the view with his mother in tow, I searched the rows of planters to see if Christine's sheers had missed any. To my surprise, I found a single rose bud concealed by its green sheath, closed tightly to the world. Gently I caressed the bud, willing it to survive before I was summoned to the balustrade.

"What is that?" Charles asked pointing down 7th avenue. "Is that the Music Hall?"

I nodded as I leaned beside Christine, feeling her hand embrace mine without reserve. I did not withdraw. Instead, I turned my hand over to interlock my fingers with hers. "Yes, that is the Music Hall. Looks different from up here, does it not?"

"Mmm hmm." He agreed as he studied the stone facade from the distance. "It's so small from here."

"It is twice as many stories as the building which you now reside," I remarked dryly. "Hardly qualifies as small."

He glanced over his shoulder back at me. "I mean it _looks_ small from here." His eyes returned to the city scape to take in building after building. "It's like Paris, and yet … different."

"Every city has its own unique style." I explained patiently. "It is dependent upon the cultures who settled there and architects who built her. There is a life blood that flows, a living breathing creature that grows as she ages."

While the boy continued to soak in the sights, Christine began to rub her thumb across my hand. There was no way I could ignore the tingling sensation that went through me. I found my own fingers returning the motion as she smiled back at me. Silently, we shared this much. Our eyes said more to each other than any mere words ever could have.

The chill of the wind caught up with Charles and he begged at long last to go back inside. We made our way down the stairs, pausing in the hall of the third floor. Christine reached up and brushed a strand of my silver hair to tuck it behind my ear. "It's so nice to see you once more. The man I remember, full of confidence and consumed by music. Erik, I truly missed you."

Running my fingers across her cheek, I watched her blush as she leaned into the caress. "Apparently I was unaware of the sheer extent of what I had been missing. I have not been myself in ages." Still holding her hand firmly, I rubbed my thumb rhythmically over the back of it. "I do not want the concerts to end knowing that it means you will be returning to Paris without me."

She looked away, holding her breath for a long moment before her tentative reply. "What the end of the concerts will bring is as of yet uncertain."

Did I dare to believe what she was saying? "Is it not inevitable that you will return there?"

With trepidation she looked up. "I … " her reply died in her throat as her eyes widened, suddenly shifting focus to stare at something over my shoulder. All color drained from her face as someone catching glimpse of a ghost from their past.

It was only then that I became aware of the location of that recessed door. Turning slowly, my eyes beheld the door behind me … wide open. Young Charles was standing before the immense mirror. Shifting my eyes back to Christine, I noted through her wide eyes a certain tinge of utter disbelief. Holding up my hands, I begged her, "I can explain! Please, let me explain!"

Brushing past me like a sleepwalker, she entered the hallowed room, her eyes drinking in every painstaking detail down to the brush on the polished table beside the mirror. I froze in the doorway, this was not how I had wanted her to learn of this secret. Her voice broke the silence. "Every detail, every last detail. It is a complete replica of the room in Paris."

"Except for one thing." I corrected hesitantly. "The mirror is mounted to a solid wall, there are no swivels, no hidden hollows, no passageways. Just this isolated room."

Turning to me, she blinked. "Why?"

I looked down at the lace covered table, muttering quietly, "Because I needed you, and this was as close as I could get to the feeling of those sacred days."

Her eyes narrowed in what must have been a stab of pain. This wasn't pity for me. I slowly realized it was empathy, an emotion of drawn out agony we had shared these long years of separation.

"Mother," Charles was sitting on the floor before the mirror, running his hands through the thick plush carpet. "Why is it pink?"

She ran the back of her hand under her eyes, to wipe away the tear that threatened to spill, before turning back to her son. "The color is called rose, darling. And it fits the decorations in here."

He looked up, cocking his head curiously. "What is this room for?"

"Theater." I replied swiftly as a cover. "It is a room for acting, Charles. Sets the mood for the theaters and opera houses since it mimics a dressing room."

With a grin, he got back to his feet. "It's for pretending, right?"

"That's it." Christine flashed me a quick nervous smile. "Just a little make-believe, nothing more."

The growling of a small stomach broke the silence. "Mother, I think I'm hungry now." Charles rubbed his stomach.

"Why don't you go down to the study and help yourself to the tray, Angel. We'll be right down." She waved the young boy off as he wandered towards the staircase. Once he was out of earshot, I leaned against a marble and rosewood stand under Christine's emotional gaze. I was trying to read her and failing utterly. Was she flattered? Was she frightened? Was she appalled by the sight? I could not tell.

Withdrawing her gaze from me, she sat down in the chair before the mirror. Her hands ran over the objects I had restored to the setting … from the make-up containers to the hand held mirror. Picking up the brush she gently drew her fingers through the bristles. Gradually, her eyes turned to the mirror, that some days before had been the instrument of my torture. A slow fond smile graced her face as she took in, not just her own reflection, but mine as well.

"I remember what it was like." Her wistful voice filled the room. "I was the singular object of your attention. The glass hid you, my Angel of Music; not that I had been aware of its deception at the time. I would have done anything to please you, anything to keep your voice speaking to me. It meant so much to know that someone had confidence in my skills, even when I entirely lacked it. In the long silence of the previous years, with the loss of my father, I had nearly given up. Then you began to speak to me as the angel he had promised."

"It was a callous trick from a bitter lonely man, Christine." I sighed. "You paint it in a light that is ill-deserved."

Still using the mirror, she locked her eyes with mine, insisting. "You may feel that way, Erik. But you fail to realize what your influence had over me. Because of you, I discovered how powerful music can truly be. Because of you, I was able to release a part of me I had feared never to be capable of expressing."

Taking a few steps towards her I stood directly behind her as she spoke to our reflections. There was nothing I could say to her revelation. All these years, caught up in my pit of despair, I had never considered what my actions had been to her. Hearing this now, I was shocked I had overlooked it for so long.

"Without your influence, my Angel of Music, I should have remained the shy chorus girl, singing like a limping sparrow." She turned to look up at me longingly. "Without you, I would have amounted to nothing at all."

"I … " Faltering, I was forced to close my eyes for a moment before starting once more, "You truly feel you would have achieved nothing on your own?"

She nodded firmly. "I had all but given up hope that I would fulfill my father's dreams." Lifting a hand over her shoulder, she laid it upon my right hand, smiling fully. "Because of you, I have now surpassed them. And I find, now that I have lived again by your side, I do not believe I can do so without you anymore."

My left hand shot down to support my swaying weight as my knees threatened to give out from the impact of her words. "I cannot return to Paris."

She stood up, twisting to face me. "I know."

We stood face to face, embraced in the re-created trappings of the past. She, the impossible dream. A woman who truly saw me for what I was. A woman capable of looking beyond the physical horror of my face to see the beauty I possessed within. And I was her teacher from the distant past, her inspiration to strive to new heights without fear. I had held her captivated, but never truly a captive. By her own admission, I had set her free from the shackles of her inhibition. With no small amount of shame, I realized she had recently returned that favor in kind.

Taking a deep breath, I glanced down upon her naked finger. "My dear, I must ask what has compelled you to discard such an important piece of jewelry at this time?"

Flicking a nervous glance down at her finger, she replied, "The rose in your work would hardly bear such a trinket in her innocence. It seemed to break the illusion."

"And yet, even now, you do not wear it." I pointed out quietly.

Her eyes studied her finger morosely, as though it should be baring a shackle and chain instead of a wedding ring.

I shook my head. "Let us not talk of this now. The concerts are undeniably our focus for these next days." Bringing my hand up to her cheek, I felt the pressure against it as she leaned deeply into the caress. As I tried to withdraw my hand, hers came up and held mine fast, forbidding me to draw back.

"Erik, you said upon the stage we were going to alter the piece each night. Tell me, have you figured out what the variant for this evening shall be?"

"Ahh, yes. That little egotistical promise." I rolled my eyes. "It will be but the work of a short rehearsal down in the music room. I intend to fit an extension to the violin bridge for this one. There will be some alterations to the vocals eventually, but I mean to save those for closer to the end of the festival." I started to draw her towards the stairs. "I will bring you in after the bridge, when it is time. Why do not you and Charles spend some time together while I work out the addition. I shall join you both for dinner. How does that sound?"

Eyeing me sideways, she replied. "You're going to eat dinner with us?"

I laughed quietly as we took the steps. "In the dining room, no less. Fortune saw fit to reveal to me that the chef was preparing a dish I happen to enjoy. So, I shall meet you and Charles in the dining room around six?"

She nodded before embracing me in a tight hug, reluctant to let go.

"It is but a few hours." I gently un-twined her fingers, chuckling. "I can see where Charles gets his idea of what an eternity means." At last, fully withdrawing from her, I drifted off to the stairs that would carry me to my music room. Tonight would come swiftly enough.

Time had the ability to pass either remarkably slow or shockingly fast. Before I knew it, what had been planned as a leisurely dinner had flashed by in what seemed mere moments. Standing in the wing of the Music Hall, I was already listening to the latter half of _Elijah_ with Damrosch at the lead of both the societies. It would not be too much longer before the elaborate piece ended, signaling the solo works. Overall the performance was going wonderfully, save for one little detail which came as a surprise. The Oratorio was singing the piece in English, and many of the words were not coming out correctly. More than once, Christine had placed a hand on my shoulder to restrain me from charging out onto the stage to yell at the singers. Yes, indeed the English vowels differed markedly from those of the more romantic languages often employed by oratorio music. But that didn't excuse mispronouncing the words altogether! I was gritting my teeth and about to try for the stage once more when Christine grabbed me and hissed quietly, "Erik, you cannot embarrass Damrosch like that! Stay back here!"

With a frustrated sigh, I leaned against the wall before assuring her. "Fine, I will not set foot on the stage." As a slow smile crept onto my face, I began to contemplate the layout of the stage and precisely where Damrosch was standing. I had almost narrowed down where I would need to throw my voice when Christine clapped a hand over my mouth.

"Erik!" Her hushed reprimand stopped me. "You'll startle him while he's directing!"

Like a scolded young boy, I hung my head as we waited for the performance to complete.

At last the piece reached the end and the societies left the stage. I caught Damrosch by the arm on the way out having missed him at the intermission. "You do realize the group was singing in English, correct?"

Damrosch nodded. "Of course."

"Then why were they not using English vowels?" I waved a hand. "Truly Damrosch, that is something you should have insisted upon. You cannot tell me it had escaped your attention."

He looked to the floor as the instrumental solo began on stage. "We had tried to correct that little issue. Over time I just realized I couldn't correct it before the concert."

Rubbing a hand over my neck, I moaned. "That is never an acceptable excuse. You could have asked me to help. I would have gladly offered to assist for a session."

"Was it really that bad?" He asked.

I nodded. "The notes and music were sublime, the strangled English words nearly crippled the performance."

Placing a hand on my shoulder, he replied, "I shall have you come in one afternoon and educate them in linguistics, Erik. Now, are you ready and warmed up? You and Christine follow Lind who just went on."

Picking up my violin I nodded, the nightingale mask already in place. "I am ready."

"As am I." Once more resembling the queen of roses, Christine came to my side absolutely glowing with vibrancy.

Damrosch smiled. "You two once more look utterly stunning." The sound of applause broke through the wing door. It was our turn once more.

I waved a hand as Lind exited the stage with a final bow.

This time when Damrosch gestured for us to take the stage, I did not hesitate. Taking my place on the darkened stage, I purposefully drew the bow across the strings before the limelight could find me. My eyes remained closed for but a few measures before I opened them to the blinding light. Without the cast of fear, I found my motions free to express the wider range, free to explore the series of notes I let fly into the air. With our new investment into the fervent emotions, I felt Christine's voice answering to mine, climbing to the new level with eagerness. We both threw ourselves deep into the thrill of making our music, fully invested in taking the audience on our journey. When I reached the instrumental bridge, I let the bow draw forth from the strings cascades of notes, falling like a torrential downpour from the sky. The speed at which they came forth was blinding to see and an auditory assault to hear. The pounding of rain upon the parched heart. It seemed once it settled, to shift to a new pattern. Just as nature was restless, so was the reflection of this melody. Driving to the verse, I gave Christine a subtle nod to bring her in without missing a beat. Her eyes casting over her shoulder, she caught the cue and entered without pause. The addition had worked flawlessly. I could not help myself but to purposefully repeat the fall to my knees in time with the fading glory of the nightingale. Why not? The accident of the night before had been so fitting. I may as well work it into the theatrics. Christine added her own flare, her arms reached around as if to embrace her fallen love.

Once more the hall fell into stark silence at the end of our piece, before the audience exploded into a standing ovation. We stood united by the link of our entwined fingers as we bowed before them. The lights were still upon us I called out, "Til tomorrow, fine patrons of the arts. For this night return to your homes to imagine the splendor you shall once more witness on the morrow's afternoon."

On our final bow, the limelights dashed us into darkness, where I felt Christine's arms embrace me tightly. "My father would be proud!"

I laughed quietly. "Your teacher is prouder."

She drew her face back to stare up into my eyes. "Was that a _bravissima_?"

Drawing my fingers through her soft hair I confirmed, " _Bravissima_ of the highest degree, my dear Christine. _Bravissima,_ the angels in heaven are in envy of your performance."

She tucked her head down into the shadows. "You always said such praise would spoil a performer, stall her growth."

"Well, yes. It can." I lifted her chin back out of her refuge. "But without some form of affirmation the heart can grow timid, and the performer shy of striving for those heights. There is a time and a place for praise, and I do believe that now is your time to hear the truth."

She reached a hand up and gripped the back of my neck, cradling it longingly as I smiled down upon my rose. "Erik, I believe there is a time for your ears to hear the truth as well."

My eyebrows rose in response, where was this going?

Sweetly she smiled, the blush on her cheeks matching the deep red embroidery of her gown. "There is not enough time throughout all of history to sing of your praises, for the joy you have induced in me. So completely have you opened my soul to your world that I revel in the splendor of true music, forever be-spelled by the sheer power of word and measure. Because of you, I can move hearts to tears or the heights of excruciating joy. I am alive because of you. And it is only the beginning."

My arm about her waist tightened its grip as I gently set the violin down beside me. Now able to fully embrace her, I looked down deep into her bright blue eyes swimming in a world that only included us. Nothing else mattered. She was my whole world, and her words told me I was hers. There was no going back from this now that we had confessed our mutual obsession.

My rose had completely ensnared me in her thorny embrace and even though I felt the prick of the thorns as they threatened to bleed me dry, I never even considered for a moment flying away. It had been the hopeless conquest of my life. Why should I flee now when I perched within reach of my heart's desire? Only a madman would now abandon his dream.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Chapter 20**_

"A glowing review it was not, Carnegie. Succinct is the word I would use." Holding the newspaper which had brought me to his office, I was once more reading the paragraphs that were tucked under the heading of Amusements on the second page. The reviewer had employed the title of Damrosch Festival, a rather accurate name for the chain of events, considering who spent the majority of time out on center stage. Leaning back in the chair, I nodded. "I had no doubt that even a menial newspaper critic would have noted the English lyrical problem."

Behind his desk, Carnegie shrugged as he laid his copy down. "There was no denying there was a problem, but I cannot see why it happened."

"Simple." Closing my edition, I folded the pages in half and laid it on the desk. "Most oratorio music is composed and performed in the more romantic languages. English possesses an array of rather unique letter combinations that require an adjustment to sing and have it sound correct. There are times when I swear Russian is easier to even speak than English is. It is not as elementary to adapt as one assumes. Nor is it easy to explain the precise modulations required. Damrosch tried to address the problem, but apparently ran out of time."

With a shake of his head, he pointed to a paragraph late in the article, quoting "'And yet, Madame Daae and her mysteriously talented violinist were capable of a spellbinding performance in fluent English without a single bungled word.'"

"There is reason enough for that. Christine is _my_ student, I would have been a poor teacher had I not instructed her in the proper tones employed in any language she might encounter. I have instructed her as well as I learned myself. And her performance rewarded me last night." With a smile, I placed my hand on the paper. "I am satisfied that the reporter found her noteworthy as she had not been mentioned the first evening. I do however wish he had not gone on further in his embroidered remarks of my … unusual stage presence."

Carnegie's eyebrows raised as he threw me a knowing expression. "Perhaps you should take a little more care in your stage presence, Erik, should you wish to avoid being noted and your past involvement investigated. I can only do so much to dispel the interest." He pointed at me, narrowing his eyes with a smile. "When you stand on the half darkened stage before the mingling crowd practically fused to her, whispering sweet nothings so that even I could see it from my vantage point, word will spread of a scandal beyond measure. It is a miracle the reviewer only made a passing remark about the performance not ending until well after the lights went out."

Beneath the mask, I felt momentarily flushed. How could I have been so reckless even caught up in the emotions? Granted, we both had been entirely overwhelmed but it was no excuse for us to lose our heads. I should have factored in that my eyes would have perceived a greater degree of darkness due to having been bleached in the limelight. Covering my embarrassment, I simply waved a dismissive hand. "They should not have been watching anyway. The show was over."

Carnegie laughed. "Unfortunate for you, more than one set of influential eyes disagreed. The rumors up in the boxes began to spread even before the crowd entered the lobby. Thanks to the party the other evening, they know she is married to the Vicomte de Chagny, and yet the other night on stage, when the lights went out, they could have sworn from the way she looked up at you that you two were bound. More than once I overheard mention that the violinist was in fact de Chagny incognito."

"What?" I shouted, bringing my fist down onto his desk. "Me? That pitiful wretch? Never! Those fools do not even know what they are seeing! Our frames are entirely different. I am far taller and leaner than he is. How would they explain the vocal differences? The man's speaking voice sounds like a throttled goose. Have you ever heard him sing? And that is just going into the physical differences, completely disregarding the distinctive variances between our manners. Have they forgotten about his stellar performance at that very party! _Forbidden_ is the embodiment of the power of a true connection deep within the souls of two beings. To perform it requires a comprehension of the farthest reaches within the human spirit. That is clearly beyond the grasp of that mewling pup!"

"Calm down." He leaned back, fighting not to laugh at my intense reaction. "Remember that those same people only saw the Vicomte at this one event, which he was absent from part of the time. Apart from that, Erik, you were hardly well visible yourself. I had my doubts you were even present until my darling Louise informed me you had been observing the stone work rather closely. How could they have possibly made a comparison?" He shrugged. "I wish I knew more of the facts as to why you bear such a deep seated hatred for the boy. Other than the obvious … that Christine is his wife."

My hand clenched and unclenched as I pushed back my natural reaction. Carnegie was not familiar with the finer points of the tragic tale. "He has proven himself unworthy of her. I trusted him to care for her. And yet he failed to uphold his promise. I should have known that my first assessment of the inner character of that spoiled aristocrat had been accurate. It was evident enough when he tried to actually shoot me in the back one night! He is an unworthy coward and a fool. If I had stayed and been there for Christine, things would have turned out differently."

Resting his chin on his hand, two fingers stretched up the side of his face as he replied intrigued. "Are you really certain it should have been wise? After all Erik, what would have happened if you had stayed in Paris after that fire?"

The fight abandoned me in the face of his cold logic. I heaved a sigh and let my hand fall limp on the arm-rest of my chair. "It is always simpler to look back and see what we feel we should have done. I seem to forever be caught up in the past events of my life, while neglecting where my present can take me. You would think that over half a century on this earth would be sufficient to teach a man to keep his eyes ahead of him instead of ever gazing back and walking right off the cliff he failed to see."

"Or the edge of the stage." Carnegie offered, less than helpfully.

Resting my head on my hand, I sighed. "There is a greater chance of that happening, so it seems. Love renders a man blind to all reason."

A slight blush grew on Carnegie's cheeks as he nodded. "I had thought I recognized what was happening. I remember all those years ago trying to keep my affections for Louise a secret from the prying eyes of the world. All I wanted to do was shout to the sun and stars how much joy she brought to me. But, for the sake of our future together, I had no choice but to rein in my enthusiasm." Shaking his head he added grimly. "I do not envy you, Erik. Your situation is far more perilous than mine ever was."

With a smirk, I retorted, "How do you come to that conclusion? Yours involved your mother's disdain."

He nodded, placing his hands before him. "Yes, that is true. However, you have to navigate the treacherous waters of a public scandal as well as evade the retribution of her husband. While it is clear she favors you, the ceremony was a binding one."

I fell silent. He was right. Wedding vows were sacred and binding … til death.

"Erik." Broken from my lengthy contemplation I looked up to find him staring at me curiously. "You really do love her, don't you. I mean, if you are risking so much in public … "

The words came to me with difficulty. "There is nothing in this world I have longed for more than her. When she is with me, there is a sense of completion, an absolute insane drive to create. She is my muse, the very inspiration that lends a higher spirit to what these hands can produce. Without her, I was only able to summon the ability to create by looking back—by remembering her. It seems so strange, now that she is beside me once more, there is no sorrow in my process, only joy. In these long years of solitude I had forgotten how alive she caused me to feel within her presence."

A grand shake of his head greeted my confession. "Oh Erik, my friend, you are deeply in love. Take care in the lengths that such a connection may lead to."

Leaning back in the chair, I heaved a heavy sigh. "If you think I am remiss in that knowledge, you have forgotten who I used to be." We were alone behind the closed door of his office and I had no reservations in such a reply that a more public presence would have made impossible.

"I haven't forgotten. And there is some concern between us where that little secret lies." His eyes narrowed. "How far will you go?"

Silence stretched on before I looked to the floor, replying in a whisper. "The answer to that question is beyond my knowledge."

"Whatever lengths you venture to, take care not to compromise the Music Hall's integrity. I understand the bewitching guile of a heart in love. All too well I am aware of how deeply it can lead a man into trouble."

"This afternoon's performance is fast approaching, I shall do my best to remember myself on the stage. Whether or not the lights are upon me." I conceded.

Carnegie got to his feet. "Take care that you do, Erik. I do not wish to have dealings with that Vicomte, and I trust neither do you."

I was forced to nod in agreement. "This is by no means a simple situation. I shall be certain to keep the emotions restrained to strictly within the performance itself." Though my words were level, my left hand was clenching into a fist. I had finally found the courage to admit to myself that I loved her; finally discovered the strength to show her the depth of my feelings for her. I had been so close to throwing caution to the wind and embracing her for all the world to truly see. Now once more I felt the unmistakable click of the lock on my emotions. Why was it that it was never acceptable for _me_ to love another human being?

Getting to my feet, I executed a stiff bow before Carnegie and turned to leave the room as his words followed me. "Erik, don't get hurt."

For once I didn't look back. "It seems to be what I specialize in. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to teach Christine a variant on her part."

Shutting the door behind me with extraordinary effort to maintain my calm, I tried to walk down the hall unaffected. It was only an appearance. Inside I was once more fettered by the world I was imprisoned in. I found Christine waiting for me inside one of the Music Hall's dressing rooms, her fingers gently caressing the strings of my violin where I had left it. When her eyes met mine, I felt a throb of pain such that I had to look away.

"Erik." She stood up and came over towards me. "Whatever is the matter?"

I gently took her hand, gathering my words carefully before I could once more face her. "My dear, we have to be more careful about this."

"About what?" Her head cocked to the side in confusion.

"About us." I sighed, my hand coming up to caress her cheek as she leaned into it. "What others see. Whether you feel any loyalty to your wedding vows or not, society will judge you by the ring that you have abandoned."

Eyes stinging with hurt and betrayal, she shook her head. "I don't understand, Erik … I thought … "

I held a finger to her lips. "I do love you." It gave me a moment's pause. I had actually managed to say it without a tremor in my voice. "But we need to keep the public emotions within the act itself. Carnegie is worried about what was witnessed the other night."

"I don't care." She protested, reaching up and trying to pull me to her. This was getting more difficult by the second. "Since when have you cared what the world thought. Who cares about Carnegie, love trumps everything!"

So deeply had I hidden the motivations that influenced my life, that she must have failed to know how wrong she was. I had ever been a slave to the opinions the world held of me. Always trapped by the influence of the world I could never truly belong to. "I respect Carnegie, and in this he is correct." I held her back ever so slightly so I could observe her reaction, the hurt was written upon her face, etched so deeply I could not deny its existence. "My dear Christine, please understand this does nothing to hinder my love for you. Nothing. It only means we need to be more mindful of what we show to the world for now."

A tear trailed down her heated cheek and she repeated. "I do not care what the world thinks! I am where I belong and I will tether myself in your arms if I must!"

I swallowed deeply, prying her arms off mine. "Darling, that is a little extreme and would cause me a great hindrance while attempting to play the violin part this afternoon. Now, listen to me. Are you listening?"

She wiped a tear from her eye before sniffing another back and nodding to me.

"I am not saying we cannot acknowledge our feelings to each other." I offered her a sincere smile. "Just that, on the stage, we need to be certain that no one assumes what we reveal in our performance holds more meaning." Looking deep into her eyes I affirmed, "We know the truth. But right now no one in that audience should know there is anything more. Please, just trust me that now is not the time to reveal to the world our true roles."

Her eyes slowly turned from me, falling to the floor with the remainder of her silent tears. "So … it is the nightingale's turn to shy from the rose's affections."

I reached forward to stroke her cheek. "Not forever."

She held up a hand, turning fully from me and retreating to the chair before the mirror. "If not forever, then when will be the time? Erik, we have but four more concerts to be together and you want to hold back so the world doesn't come to the correct conclusion."

"Christine." Coming up behind her I placed a hand on her shoulder. "You misunderstand my intentions, during the performance there is no reason to hold back. Only in public after."

Closing her eyes she added. "So they believe what they saw was only an illusion."

"Exactly."

"A lie."

I swung around before her, kneeling so I was closer to her eye level. She had been on the European stages. She had been a victim of the gossip that spreads like wild fire at the misplaced glance of an eye. For her it had been only words. I was all too familiar with the depth that society could drop to, even that which was considered civilized society. I did not want to see her truly harmed by her wayward feelings. I reached up and brushed away her hair. "The illusion is for the audience. Just an illusion, not a lie. This is not Europe, my darling. This new world hungers for power and entertaining stories. None so gripping as a fresh scandal involving an aristocrat. They do not know of our history, nor do we owe them that much. Please understand, they will not see this for what it is. They will not see us for what we are and the repercussions could be catastrophic."

"I just want to be true to my heart," she whispered.

"At my home, and upon that stage during the performance we are as much as we desire." With a heavy heart I added, "Beyond that, for now, we must be careful. Will you do that for me?"

Reluctantly she nodded.

I lifted her chin with a finger and smiled. "That is my Angel. Now, have you had a chance to read over your new part?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat and gently wiped the tears away. "It seems simple enough and yet more elegant. Give me a moment to compose myself and we can rehearse."

I withdrew from her, gliding my hand along her arm as I passed by. "Take as long as you require." We had ample time before our cue to enter the stage. Taking the violin in my hands, I began to warm up the strings, suppressing the writhing emotions within me. I wished she had been right. I desired not to care what the world thought of me, but it was so ingrained within that I could not simply dismiss it. Like every performer steeped in the arts, my existence was forever woven in the reactions of the outside world.

As always, Christine was a remarkably quick study, incorporating the new part seamlessly into the piece. It rewarded us with the chance to wordlessly stand in the wing and listen to the glorious music of the afternoon's program. The works of Mozart, Massenet, and Wagner surrounded Tchaikovsky's tributes. I enjoyed Damrosch's spirited handling of the pieces. Selections from _Figaro_ delighted the audience before Tchaikovsky's _Suite III_ was greeted with uproarious applause. The two aria's from Massenet brought about a light contrast to the program before Wagner's _Tristan and Isolde_ concluded the societies pieces. While the two planned solos commenced, I stole into a dressing room and fine tuned my violin with a quick warm up. Returning precisely on time, I followed Christine out onto the stage.

When the limelights fell upon us, I detected a marked difference in the presence across the stage. Christine was completely closed off to me, her eyes refusing to meet mine even when I redoubled my efforts to coax her gaze my way. Cold and aloof, she delivered her part with astonishing realism as the rose refusing the advances of the nightingale. I could see in her stiff stance that she was still stung by the instructions from before. There was nothing I could do to influence the situation. It hurt me to see her this way. All I could do was employ the emotion of desperation to push the performance to a higher level. I had to make her understand! She had to accept this state as it was, for what it must be. When at last we reached the rose's tentative turn, her eyes barely met mine before they flicked away, refusing to remain locked with mine. This was our chance to be together and her gaze refused to meet mine. The feverish pitch reached, I knelt on the floor before her where she looked right past me. Dashed into silence, the applause that followed was as deafening as the first nights.

When the bows were completed, I turned to find her exiting the stage without a word. By the time I reached the wing, she had vanished into the throng of musicians. This wasn't what I had asked for. And yet I knew she must have been struggling in her own way. Packing up my violin in the wing, I kept hoping she would return when things grew quieter. My wish went unfulfilled. I witnessed the crowds departing til at long last I was abandoned in the darkened auditorium. Heart broken, I left the Music Hall in the early evening, utterly alone.

That night, I stared at the ceiling from my couch while Christine and Charles remained locked behind my chamber door. The silence in my life seemed never more deafening, never more complete, nor a night so long. For once, I actually longed for Nadir's nagging to at least fill the hours with something. More than once, I found my feet had carried me to my chamber door, my hand just about to knock on the door before I lost heart and moved back to dismally lie on the couch to await the punishing rays of the dawn. Somewhere, lost in the predawn hours, my eyes shifted to the pipe on my desk. I felt the lure of the sweet poppy calling to me. This would not refuse me or my needs. With a wretched sigh, I rolled over away from the sight. Part of me was itching for the relief, but the wiser side of me knew it would take from me more than I could spare in these precious days. I did not dare to leave my guard on the door lest she chose to come to me.

Each hour was an eternity, until the velvet sky began to turn pale and the stars winked out overtaken by the sun's morning light. I hadn't slept a wink. The sun was fully in the sky before I climbed to my feet to contemplate what I would do for tonight. I wouldn't ask more of Christine, who had yet to emerge from the behind door. No, this time it would be my vocals I would alter. Some plea for forgiveness of what I had been forced to do.

Casting one last glance to the closed door, I shifted down to the music room to spend countless hours playing with variations of the musical theme. I lost count of how many sprang to life before I selected the variant I would use tonight and worked tirelessly on perfecting it.

Early evening found me once more dwelling in the Music Hall, watching the excitement building. I had no desire to speak to anyone. Clinging to the shadows, once more I felt the old twinge in me wary of being hurt. Damrosch and Tchaikovsky walked right past me without even noting I had been briefly beside them. I leaned against the wall and sighed, maybe it was for the best if I should just vanish once more. Did I really wish my existence known to the world any longer? It seemed more trouble than it was worth.

As Schuetz's _the Seven Words of Our Savior_ began, I found myself leaning against the wall of the wings staring into the darkened ceiling. Christine was here. I could feel her presence but I knew she was avoiding me. I had hoped, that when Tchaikovsky started his a-capella choruses, I would feel a little more at ease, my spirit lifted by the music. Instead, I found no respite in how I felt I had betrayed my Angel. The transition to Damrosch's tribute to his father by performing _Sulamith_ just served to render my mood ever more sullen.

Christine could not have timed her entrance to the wing more closely than the last bars before our cue. With nothing more than a professional nod, she approached the wing door. Keeping my voice to a whisper I stood beside her in the glimmering mask. "My dear, this is a little extreme … "

She gave me a side long glance, replying coldly. "It is what you requested of me."

I placed a hand on her shoulder which she shrugged off. "Christine— "

"We mustn't appear to have a connection. There **is** none." Stepping out onto the stage, she left me in the wing awash in confusion.

Numb with shock, I took my mark upon the stage and closed my eyes. _Use it,_ I thought to myself. Use this feeling to lift the performance to the next level. After a deep breath, I drew the bow across the strings and threw all my being into the desperate flight of the nightingale. If my rose was going to spurn me, I would use my voice to lure her back. Or at the very least cause her to deeply regret her choice. Halfway through the piece, when I launched into my variant, I could see that Christine was fighting hard to maintain her stony poise. Long before my staged fall to my knees, I could see the pain in her eyes as she continued to fight her instincts to fully embrace me. Regret was written deep.

I thrust the bow across the strings to the final chord and, this time it was my eyes who refused to meet hers. When our bows were completed, I left her standing on the stage without a backward glance. Hastily returning to my home, I proceeded to the rooftop with my pipe loaded full of opium.

With the bright stars winking overhead, I watched as Christine walked up the street huddled in her cloak, with her head hanging. Right up to the door she came hunched and weary. From this high up I could not tell if she had been crying. Leaning against the balustrade, I took a deep inhalation of the powerful drug and let it wash through me. What good would it do to go down to her and embrace her? Dropping down onto the bench, I stared up into the sky and tried in vain to banish my deepest desire. It hurt too much to even consider how close I had been to happiness. True happiness.

Fate forbade me love. When would I ever learn to accept that?


	21. Chapter 21

_**Chapter 21**_

Mechanically, I closed my watch and slid it back into my vest pocket. Rapidly the first concert of the afternoon was approaching as I haunted the upper hallways of the Music Hall. Below me, in a bustling mass of humanity, gathered patrons and performers alike. I had no desire to be amongst them. Two years I had spent planning and building this temple of music. Over the past four days I had stood upon this stage … my soul raw and unrestrained before them. Each time, they had given us a standing ovation. Inside, I had felt the thrill and the honor of their lavish praise, but I was being eaten alive, unsatisfied. There was a longing deep within that even my opium had failed to satiate. I was not ignorant to the source of my pain. For each of those four concerts, she stood across from me on the stage. Foolishly, I had led myself to the absurd belief that fate might have gifted me with a second chance at love. I should have known better. The world never had smiled upon me for long. No one had.

"Erik, are you listening to me?" I barely glanced over my shoulder to see Damrosch panting as he tried to close the distance. "I have been looking everywhere for you! For heaven's sake, would you just stop for a moment! I need your opinion."

"Why would you care what I have to say?" I muttered. "Why would anyone care?"

Coming to my side, Damrosch narrowed his eyes. "I value your counsel, I always have. I should think, with how well your performances have gone over, you would be thrilled. It's a little more than I can say to the reception from the reporters of my conducting."

With a shrug, I continued on my aimless way as Damrosch stubbornly clung at my shoulder. "You should not be reading the reviews until the concerts are over."

"But I have been reading them," he protested. "Erik, the tempos, they say I am pushing the time too swiftly. The Symphony Society is marching over the pieces with a … with a … "

Studying my fingernails idly, I quoted one such review for him. "'With a monotonous double forte.' Not that the reporter used it correctly."

He pressed a finger against my shoulder, "So you _have_ read them."

"Of course I have, and I find their reviews rather tedious and un-noteworthy." Beside me, Damrosch was attempting to halt my aimless progress through the halls and his persistence was getting aggravating. "They know nothing of music, Damrosch. Ignore them and just conduct as you will."

Striding in front of me, he blocked my path as I glared down at him. "Did you think the tempos were rushed? Erik—please! You know music. I have to know what you thought."

Taking a deep breath to dull the edge off my temper, I shook my head. "Your spirited conducting is fine, Damrosch. The public is simply more accustomed to hearing the pieces dragging due to being under-tempo rather than at the proper one. Why do you persist in doubting yourself? The festival is a grand success regardless of those uneducated ramblings of foolish critics."

He cracked a slight smile. "I knew you would understand. I just knew it." As he basked in the glow of that which was not truly intended to be a complement, I slid past him to continue on my aimless quest. "Erik, wait. I have another question for you if you don't mind."

"I do mind." I retorted over my shoulder as he came to my side once more.

Ignoring my warning, he continued. "There's something about your performance with Christine these last days. I mean, the one on the second night left everyone in awe. Especially when the lights went out and you two … well, I know the song was over, but no one could take their eyes off you."

I rolled my eyes, markedly speeding up my pace, only to find Damrosch stubbornly keeping up.

"It hasn't gone unnoticed that things changed after that night." His eyes were studying me closer even as we walked on. "In these last two performances you revealed a marked distance between you two. Why?"

I fought to keep my voice level and emotionless. "I do not wish to talk about it, Damrosch."

"Erik, even though the audience hasn't seemed to notice the lack of emotion we—"

I cut him off with a slice of my hand. "Enough! You have a concert to direct. Now, leave me alone." Not waiting for a reply, I continued my brooding leaving him where he stood. My dress sword's hilt provided an adequate rest for my right arm. So, the others had noted things were different between us. How could they not? Carnegie, why had you requested this of me?

I sat down on a secluded staircase and let my turbulent thoughts wander. I had not wanted to stand on the stage for all the world to see. It had never been my desire to revisit those days and reopen the old wounds that had tormented me so. For whatever reason, fate often decided that life for me never came without considerable pain. Once more, here I was, gutted by the unrelenting knife of desire and left to bleed alone. This had not been Carnegie's doing, all he had seen was a talent he wanted to share with the world. There was no way even his foresight could have seen the tragic consequences of his request. Of course, all this could have been avoided had I possessed sense enough to have locked away any semblance of the score _Forbidden._ Had Christine never heard the nightingale sing, she may never have been provided the opportunity to rend my heart in two. Footsteps echoed from below me, edging up the stairs.

"Damrosch, shouldn't you be directing right now?" I snapped with my head resting in my hand.

"He is." Her timid voice echoed up as she clung to the lowest step of the flight below.

Glancing between my fingers, I confirmed my ears had not lied to me. There Christine stood, awash in shame. Her eyes downcast before her, she could not bring herself to look at me. "So, you have decided to speak to me once more?"

Her fingers idly played on the railing in a series of patterns. "I didn't realize … " she began haltingly. "How much it hurt you the other afternoon when I turned away from you … until yesterday evening when you did it to me. I didn't mean to hurt you, Erik. It's just that, well, I overreacted to what you asked of me."

Leaning back against the wall at the top of the stairs where I sat, I heaved a sigh. "I should say you did, my dear. Hardly was that a request for isolation."

She took a single step, hovering hesitantly. "Will you forgive me, my love? This is not how I wish things to remain."

"Nor how I wish them to. However," I held up a finger to make my point, "your actions did rather torture me these last nights. Am I just to overlook such a transgression?"

"Please." Her eyes pleaded up to mine as she took a few more steps. "Erik, my Angel of Music, I beg you to forgive me! I didn't know how to react to your request and I am truly sorry."

Curse my heart. She was near to crying as I reached a hand down the stairs and drew her towards me. Her small frame huddled in my arms. "I could never stay angry with you for long." So close to me once more, in reach and nestled in my arms of her own accord, her heart belonged to me. Yet, I doubted whether I could keep her, even despite my adoration. Casting my eyes to the ceiling, I could not deny that fate had been horrendously tiresome in playing tricks upon me of late.

I felt a slight tremble through her frame. "Then … you were angry with me."

"My love." Gentle fingers turned her chin to meet my eyes as I gazed down upon her. "Though I am loath to confess it, your actions hurt me. I was not angry so much as distraught over the misunderstanding."

Resting her hand on mine, she pressed towards me. "I need to hear you say I am forgiven, Erik. Please. I did not mean such an infliction."

There was no denying her anything. "You are forgiven." I added, "On the condition that, with these last two concerts today, we give this audience something to remember."

Resting both her hands on my leg, she blinked up at me. "You have something in mind."

I chuckled. "For this afternoon my dear, just let your true emotions rule the performance. This evening," I shifted my eyes to the side, "I have something in mind." It would require fetching that single rose from my rooftop between concerts. There would not be time before our performance this afternoon. In fact, taking out my watch I was surprised to see how swiftly time had gotten away from us! "Christine, speaking of our performance, we have quite a few floors to climb down to reach the wing on time for our cue. Time is rather short. Shall we?" Taking my hand, she stood beside me as we made our way down the steps.

Attempting to capture a sense of normal conversation, she remarked. "Charles is beside himself with excitement to see us perform this evening. He told me Nadir would be accompanying him to the Hall."

"Hopefully the two will not be creating too much trouble." I offered back.

"Of late I have seen less of Nadir. Since the concerts began he has been difficult to find, even around the house."

"It is Nadir." I opened the door for her to enter the main floor before me. "He has a will all his own and, as much as he belly aches over how moody I can be, there is no denying he moans louder when provoked. Undoubtedly he has been keeping to himself these last days."

"It's a shame, I enjoyed conversing with him." Shifting by the stage wing, I listened long enough to discern that Damrosch was almost at the end of the tribute to Wagner's _Parsifal_. We had but a short time through the other solos to warm up in the dressing room.

"I am sure you two had much to discuss." My tone was a little harsher than I had intended as we entered the dressing room where my violin waited. I tested the tuning with a quick series of notes.

Christine drew her fingers across the table nervously. "We have spoken, many times."

"I know." Flicking the bow towards her I retorted. "If you think they were all un-witnessed, you are sadly mistaken."

"You were listening?"

I nodded, my eyes peering over the bridge of the violin. "It is my house, after all. Neither one of you is known for being terribly quiet when you speak. It should be mentioned that, it is most courteous to keep one's voice down when speaking behind the back of the master of the house."

"Oh … " Losing a little color to her face, she brought her hands together before her. "I didn't know what to do, Erik. Nadir was concerned you had been dealing with too much lately. And I had no idea how to tell you about Raoul's betrayals."

Lowering the violin, I set the end upon my leg. "Simple my dear, just honor me enough to tell me. How should I be able to help you without the knowledge of what he has done, and clearly he has committed some heinous crimes of the heart to earn such treatment."

Taking the seat before the mirror she nodded as her hands toyed with the ruffle on her dress. "You are no fool, my Angel. His reckless behavior is written throughout our lives. Earning the scorn of his family, Raoul's gambling and drinking resulted in a lost fortune. Eventually his elder brother cut off his money entirely after Raoul's investments failed. I was forbidden from, what he called, the frivolity of the stage, no matter how oft I snuck out to audition. Raoul eventually learned of it and oh the fights that followed … " She visibly trembled as her memories took her back. "At first it was only words. But in time, after his deeds required the forth relocation of our apartments in Paris, he had returned for the first time reeking of that smoke. Opium. I had not known what it was, only that it stole him from his bed for more nights than not. The words grew more heated, the actions more directed, I tried in vain to hide it from Charles. Our coming to these shores had nothing to do with my invitation to sing here. I had concealed that from him. We came because he wished to explore an investment, and yet all he has done is gamble away the remainder of our money." Her eyes locked with mine. Even across the room I saw her desperate plea. "Erik, I cannot go back to Raoul. I do not care what that golden shackle signifies. I refuse to suffer at his hands any longer."

I could not move. My hand gripped the neck of my violin with a slight tremor as I examined her words. Through clenched teeth, I inquired. "He not only humiliated you, he struck you did he not? The bruise on your neck after the party was hardly the first."

There were no words in reply, only the lowering of her head in shame.

"No." I shook my head, setting the violin aside I strode purposefully across the room and forced her to look up at me. "No, you do not downcast your eyes for the sake of that insolent boy! What he has done to you … these eyes are not to seek the floor in dishonor that belongs to no one but him!" Cradling her jawline, I caught and held her sad gaze forcefully. "Fate has a terrible sense of humor, my dear, that it should make a monster out the man destined to keep you from one."

"Erik, you are _not_ a monster." She whispered back. "When will you see you are my salvation?"

I shuddered at her words, fighting to find some reply, when a knock issued from the door. "Monsieur Erik and Madame Daae, are you in there?"

"Yes." I replied firmly.

The voice continued. "It's nearly your cue. Is everything alright? Normally you are already waiting."

"We shall be there in a moment." I called out before turning to Christine with a whisper. "Push those thoughts out of your mind, my dear. Not another moments thought. Tomorrow morning, we will sit down and figure out what the future holds. Alright? For now it is just the rose and the nightingale stealing a forbidden moment in the garden. Come." I stood and beckoned her with my hand.

Gracefully she came into my embrace, soft and warm. "I love you, Erik."

"And I cannot live without you, my Angel of Music." I smiled down upon her before taking the violin back into my hands. "Shall we?"

From the moment the light flooded on me, I felt the overwhelming surge of power flow through my veins. Across the stage, she stood framed by the glow of the limelight, her eyes watching me half-lidded in anticipation. We were commanding that stage before a single note came to life. The wings of her nightingale carried across the stage to her rescue, the rose's innocent heart beating in time as she accepted her dismal situation and recognized the chance for another, less constrained view of the world. This afternoon the lyrics bore so much more meaning for us than ever before. At the end of the song, her head bowed and her arms embraced me tightly where I knelt. As I lifted the bow from the strings, I let my head fall onto hers and we simply remained, feeling each other breathing, vital and alive once more.

Rising to our feet to be greeted with our fifth standing ovation, we bowed off the stage hand in hand. Once behind the wing door I smiled to her breathlessly. "That was better, much better."

Damrosch was applauding amidst a number of musicians, "Better? Erik that was sublime!"

Sliding my arm from Christine I let my cloak glide across her shoulders, as I replied to Damrosch. "If you think this one was grand, wait for tonight when the real magic begins." I took a quick glance at his pocket watch before returning it to him. "Time will pass swiftly before the evening's concert. Christine you should prepare Charles for the event. Meanwhile, I have a little trick to arrange."

"Magic?" Damrosch turned his head in confusion. "What are you planning?"

Letting the cloak flow about me as I turned on a heel, I chuckled. "Patience, Damrosch, patience."

I had a rose to clip from my garden. The very last bloom I possessed. It was by sheer luck that it turned out to be a white one, petals spread in a glorious crown atop a deep green stem. With the long stem in hand, I studied the rose before my eyes for sometime, contemplating the illusion I had in mind before the subtle details worked themselves out. It would be an elegant touch to the stage, and the work of but a short hour in my laboratory with a simple vase of clay to hide the illusion.

"Are you ready?" Nadir stood outside the door to my laboratory just as I adjusted the finishing touch, placing the vase in a small crate to keep the delicate bloom safe for the journey to the hall.

"For the finale, of course I am."

"Charles is nearly climbing the walls in anticipation, he has been the whole time, waiting to hear his mother sing."

Picking up my cloak, I swung it over my shoulders before grabbing the crate to follow him down the hall. "Is it any wonder the boy should? After all, she is spellbinding when she sings."

He eyed me with a shake of his head. "It has been no small task tending the boy while you two have been off making music together."

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I gave it a little squeeze. "And you have been remarkable at fulfilling that task. Enjoy tonight, my friend. See what has been occupying my time."

At the bottom of the stairs, Christine stood beside Charles who was positively bouncing on his heels and chattering so rapidly that the words ran into one another. It seemed that she had given up some time ago on even attempting to unstring them. Outside, in the growing evening air, the boy's chatter accompanied us every step of the way, even into the lobby of the hall itself where we parted ways. I almost felt sorry for Nadir who had likely grown accustomed to my more taciturn ways. Hopefully, young Charles would hold his tongue for the concert.

All about the hall there pervaded a feeling of excited finality. This was it! Soon would begin the last concert of the festival. Even I was not immune. I lingered on the edge with Christine hanging from my arm as we watched the societies take the stage for the performance of Handel's _Israel in Egypt_. Note for note, we savored the performance from our vantage point behind the wing. This time there would be no other solos before us. After the societies finished, came our cue. My eyes turned to Christine as she applauded the performers exiting the stage. It was our last time, and I was going to make this count.

Lingering in the wing for the briefest moment, we left the stage bare and with sufficient time to build up the suspense before I gestured for her to take the stage before me. Gliding by the piano without any untoward motions, I deposited the vase with the insignificant white rose upon the edge before taking my place.

This time, when I let the bow fly across the strings, I let a whole new strain fly into the counter melody, trickier by far than what I had demonstrated before. My voice launched into the lyrics, reaching out for the heart I already secretly possessed. But I let that heart know without a doubt that she was where she belonged. The voice that answered was no less telling. Soaring, leaping, yearning to fulfill our passionate pleas, more than our voices entwined beneath the glare of the limelights. This night was ours for the taking, come what may! Just as the nightingale I portrayed, I threw caution to the wind. I pursued my desire regardless of fate's treacherous game. Love may be forbidden to the likes of me, but I was a renowned thief! I would steal it before the eyes of God if I was left no other choice.

My voice joined hers in the final verse as I poured every ounce of my soul into the words.

 _The purest rose to bloom_

 _Stained by love's true wound_

 _Of the nightingale's strain._

Over my shoulder, I knew in the vase the snow white rose was rapidly turning a brilliant red as if by sheer magic, the petals began to bleed crimson into their flesh under the light. By the time Christine's mournful voice reached the final words …

 _Of the love that consumed_

 _Displayed in the memory of the red rose._

… all memory of the white petals had been erased and the rose appeared to have always been red. When I climbed to my feet to the applause, laying my violin on the piano, I simply plucked the long stem from the vase and presented it to Christine with a bow. As she studied the bloom in wonder, I smiled down waiting for her to turn her eyes once more up to me. It seemed like time stood still until at long last her angelic gaze met mine. The heat of the lights still upon us, I wrapped my arms tightly around her and pulled her up into my embrace. Both our eyes closed as I kissed her long and full. She did not draw away, but instead pulled me down into her, closer and tighter. Warm and safe, made whole by the embrace, we were two broken spirits rekindled by the fire of music.

And now—the world knew.

When at last we withdrew to gaze into each other's eyes, there was no way of knowing how long it had been. Our fingers interlocked as we walked hand in hand from the stage. Nothing else existed for us. Striding past the slackened jaws of the other musicians, we proceeded through the hall to the foyer where the throngs of patrons awaited for the grand after party.

Sliding off to the side, Christine and I found refuge amidst the bustling crowd of the upper lobby around her statue. Patron after patron hounded us to congratulate our performance and inquire about the trick with the rose, which Christine showed them was nothing more than a normal flower. A rose that now was thoroughly stained deep crimson red. Leaning back against the stone wall, we watched the crowd mingling with hardly time for a word between us. Charles ran through the crowd with Nadir fighting to stay at his heels. "Mother! Mother! You were wonderful. Your voice is so pretty. You should sing more."

I laughed as she blushed in the embrace of her young son … our son. "Yes, Christine. You should sing more."

"And what of you, Maestro Erik?" She grinned at me. "Will you stand before the lights and grace the world with your talents as well?"

"You should!" Charles climbed out of his mother's arms to spring up upon me. Fortunately I saw him coming and caught him. "You play very well! Can I learn how to do that?"

"With practice." I replied. "It is certainly not something that just happens."

"Erik!" Damrosch called out from across the lobby, "Come over here for a moment."

I leaned over and gave Christine a fond kiss. "I shall be right back, my dear."

The tightly packed crowd closed in behind me as I approached Damrosch and his company. Several of the violinists from the symphony gazed at me in awe. "Erik, that was a Stradivarius you play, right?"

"Yes, of course. I've had it for a number of decades now. Amazing instrument."

Adam Wallbeck, the violinist beside me remarked, "Of course, if it is a Stradivari original, it should be."

Another tried to whisper but was overheard. "That's why he sounded so good, it was the instrument more than anything else."

"Nonsense." I replied tersely. "A good instrument will never save a bad performer. The music that pours forth comes from within the musician, the instrument is but a vessel to deliver it."

"So a good musician could bring forth an excellent performance from a poor instrument?" Wallbeck eyed the whisperer and I could tell now that I had been brought to quell an argument.

I laughed. "Provided it can hold its tuning properly, yes. Regardless, it can only amplify what is produced upon it. Even the most basic student of music should have learned that much."

Damrosch placed a hand on my shoulder and began to laugh. "Erik, I want you to direct the societies for a day please. The lessons you would teach them!"

I rolled my eyes, turning to reply, when a shout caught my ear. Towards the window, a commotion triggered a split in the crowd. Framed by the darkened arch of the window beside the statue where I left her, I saw Christine bent over holding the side of her face. Above her stood Raoul, his hand drawn back to strike her again, wide eyes blazing with anger and his lips drawn back in a sneer.

"What have you to say for yourself, you whore?" He shouted.

His hand was in motion—but not before I was. With a scream of rage, I tore across the floor, the cloak's edges stretching out like great wings as I poured every ounce of my weight into tearing him away from her! His eyes caught sight of me only in enough time to take one step in bracing himself before my shoulder hit him square in the rib cage, sending him and the statue with an immense crash through the upper window. Unfortunately, the momentum that ensured I reached her side in time also meant I could not stop myself before gravity won! I never wished more my cloak to have been actual wings.

Amidst the crash of the glass, I heard Charles's frantic scream from above. "Father!"


	22. Chapter 22

_**Chapter 22**_

Gravity is an undiscriminating force. It pulls every object down towards earth equally, without a care for the feeble resistance of the flightless structure of the human body. Perhaps it would have been wise for me to have taken a moment to briefly consider the angle and speed of my collision. Or perhaps simply to factor in that the balcony lobby was hardly on the ground floor of the Music Hall. In my haste, however, I had failed to spend even a single thought for how my headlong charge might end. All that mattered was ensuring that Raoul would never lay a hand upon her again. Far too late did I come to realize, as the effects of adrenaline slowed my perception of time so that I might observe the slow turn of the shining glass shards twisting in the air, that there was going to be a rather sudden stop at the end of this unexpected journey. I could only brace myself as the cobble-stoned city streets crowded with carriages, vanished from sight to be replaced by the star lit sky. For all my powers to levitate objects, there was little I could do to effect the outcome.

A split second before my own impact, I heard the sharp crack of what I assumed to be the statue smashing against the street on its shallower trajectory. Directly beneath me, the tearing of the leather top of a carriage by the impact of a large soft object, followed by the whoosh of air forced from lungs precluded my own jarring halt. Surprisingly, I found myself staring up into the night sky largely unharmed, sprawling upon the seat of the carriage. A sudden thrashing of limbs from beneath me, where Raoul had landed wedged in the gap between the seats, launched me from my prone position. Propelling myself out into the cobble-stoned street, I was glad to feel the surge of adrenaline priming my muscles and reactions. I knew I would feel the impact of that fall later. For now, my body's natural defense was effectively shielding me from the ache. As I watched the undignified struggle of the aristocrat from the tangle of torn leather, I wondered if he benefited from the same reflex.

Facing him as he extracted himself from the carriage, my left hand gripped the phoenix hilted sword. I was poised and ready to draw my blade. I knew the dishonor of this man. I knew all too well the lengths he would endeavor to end my life. He had the advantage of youth. That was his only advantage. It would take but a few intimidating maneuvers to turn that against him.

Planting his feet on the cobble-stones, Raoul shook his head to clear it before glaring up at me through his bruise rimmed eyes. At least he was sober. And it seemed he had been forced to be for more than a day. "Erik!" My name was but a savage hiss from his drawn back lips. "So it **is** you! The man in the tavern the night before last had been right." His voice was a menacing growl as he leaned forward, aggressively resembling a cat ready to pounce. "This is where the Phantom washed up!" His hand darted for a pistol beneath his coat.

A quick flick of my now unsheathed blade caught the firearm's path just as he drew it and slapped it harmlessly away with a clatter under the carriage beyond his reach. Lifting the blade, I assumed my defensive stance and watched him stare at his empty hand in disbelief. "Not the coward's way, boy." I growled. "Face me like a man! Draw your sword if this is to be how you desire to end this conflict."

Painfully slowly his hand edged to the hilt of his dress sword, his eyes turning hard as alabaster stone as they locked back on me. "I should have killed you when I had the chance!"

"You mean when you made that chivalrous attempt to shoot me in the back from your balcony in Paris?" I flicked the blade ever so slightly, realizing we had both reverted to speaking French in our intense anger. "This time do it right. The blade is the weapon of a gentleman."

The sound of the steel leaving its sheath accompanied his words. "Yet it is wielded this evening by a monster."

I offered him a slow vicious smile, anticipating the loss of his temper and the inevitable close in for the first strike. "By the account of your wife, it seems that role is sufficiently cast by you."

"Wouldn't a loathsome beast like you know." He brought his blade up before him, locking his eyes on me for a long tense moment before I watched the truth gradually dawn on him. Following the outline of my blade down to the hand that held it, he swallowed deeply, a bead of sweat sliding from his forehead. He tried several times to shift his stance, tried to find an angle for his blade to purchase a better defense. We had yet to even perform a single lunge and the boy was already showing signs of a panic. I watched my prey, patiently waiting for his youthful pride to bring him within careless range. He flicked a nervous glance up at my nightingale masked face as he observed. "You fight with the sinister hand."

A slow confident smile grew on my face as I settled my defensive stance, the point of my sabre drawing a few small controlled circles in the air. "How astute of you to notice. Am I to assume that your many duels throughout the years included at least one who handled a blade as I?" I took a step towards him. Gauging by his swift overcompensated stagger back and the tremble that infected his sword hand, I discerned that he had never faced a left handed opponent. I wondered if he had ever even practiced against one. Letting a low menacing laugh escape me, I took another step towards him watching the boy trying to cover his fear with a cracking bravado as he examined how open his typical fighting stance would leave him. Very few survived dueling with a skilled left handed opponent. It was a rare individual who lasted long enough in a duel to learn how they must adapt, for the left hander was already accustomed to the off-sided guard they required. The only chance to live long enough to learn was practice bouts. "Or did they neglect to teach you how to defend on the same side when you were schooled in fencing?"

Raoul narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin haughtily. "Of course I know how!"

"Than show me." My words had not even died on the wind before my blade feinted an attack high to his left shoulder. In a minute shift of my weight, I withdrew the blade and slashed it down across his vest front. In his scrambled effort to roll away from the high feint, his belly had protruded right into the waiting path of the true intention.

Staggering backward, he glanced down to find a lengthy cut in his satin vest. I purposefully had not applied enough force to reach his skin, he had been lucky. With a growl, he brought his blade up into a mid defense. "That wasn't fair!"

"Save your breath, with how poorly you chased the dragon you are going to need everything you possess and more to walk away from here with even the semblance of a life!" I deflected his attack with a swift roll of a circular parry culminating in a riposte sliding neatly through and around his back. "I forget myself, you never truly possessed one!" Raoul's reflexes were struggling, suppressed by the many abuses he had undertaken. There was no mistaking the tick of the early withdrawal from opium use which he had clearly tried to ease with other vices with little success. So much for this being even remotely a fair fight. His only hope was that the weight of the years on my frame would fatigue me before I ceased toying with him and his death blow could be delivered. With every kiss of the steel blades, the chances of that outcome were diminishing as I mercilessly taunted him.

As he rounded, I let his advance lunges gain ground on me, drawing him down the street in a lengthy series of feints, weaving through the rows of carriages. "The letter, in French!" He panted while swinging his blade, trying to find a way through my tight guard. "I should have known that was from you!"

"Of course." I left an opening in my guard that he slid right into. Executing a passata-sotto, my right hand planted on the ground as I ducked beneath his wild swing, the power of my extreme lunge carried through as I brought the hilt of my blade up into his ribcage from below. "Do not blame me for your own stupidity, it was you who entered my opium den spending money you did not have!" The air forced from his chest, he staggered backwards on the cobblestones as I returned to en garde. "Why did you not just listen to my sage advice and leave these shores. We could have avoided this entire altercation altogether."

Gripping his blade tightly, Raoul climbed back to his feet with a pained snarl. "You are insane if you believe I would leave my wife and son to you!"

I threw my head back in laughter. "What a sad little wretch you are, Boy!" Anticipating an onslaught, I leveled my gaze and lifted the blade back between us. "Your wife came to me begging for protection _from_ you! And the boy you claim to be your son, well now, it seems you are not very astute after all, you unmuzzled clay-brained boar."

He took a step back, the sword keening down in a momentarily limp hand as what I said began to sink in. Denial was a powerful emotion. But the undeniable truth was beginning to sink in as his eyes turned to search my own. I saw them flick to my brown eye even as his left hand reached up to his own blue eyes. "No. It's not true!"

"Oh . . . it most certainly is. I recognized my signature in the boy the moment I first laid eyes on him. Even Nadir deduced his parentage without prompting!" I smiled sadistically, relishing the pain in his eyes as he lunged forward savagely. Deflecting his attack with a quatre parry, I continued to taunt him. "I assure you her heart belonged to me before you even heard her sing. You never truly measured up to me and you never shall. It was my legacy you raised under your roof, even while you broke your promise to me that you would cherish my greatest treasure!" I watched as his muscles tensed, as he attempted to deduce an angle that might get by, the temper building as the blade tremored in his waiting hand. Let him come to me, let him pursue his death. "What manner of lowlife after so many years would not come to realize that the child he raised was not his own? Oh, yes, one who lacked the ability to succeed at anything in life! You are a complete and utter failure, Raoul!"

"At least I'm not a miscreant fleeing from the law!" He snapped back, slashing the air in a high feint which I moved to parry just in case. "Not some demented demon haunting the hallways of musical halls in pursuit of vulnerable young women!" He was bracing himself to rush towards me, I could see the ball of his foot digging in for the traction. "It is because of you I lost everything! Even that brazen strumpet you left in my care!"

Strumpet? Precluded by a quick appel of his foot, he launched headlong at me across the cobble-stones with a wild cut attack aimed at the backside of my blade. He meant to beat it out of the way and strike. I wasted nothing on words. Putting the bite into my blade, I deftly slid across the blunt backside of his sword, using my cloak to catch and fully deflect his mis-aimed strike. Circling back, I turned to find even in his anger he had thought enough to quickly adapt the guard on his back. Steel met steel in a mighty series of rings as I used the power of my strikes to push Raoul down the streets in a desperate struggle for prise de fer.

"She betrayed you, Erik!" He gasped for air as I cornered him between two carriages. "She stayed beside me!"

"And what did you do to her?" I snapped back with a vicious swipe that narrowly missed his neck. "You swore you would protect her! Cherish her! And what did you do? You neglected her greatest gifts, squandered away your fortune, and you struck her like she was a disobedient dog!" I brought the flat of my blade against the side of his head. "How does that feel?"

It left him momentarily reeling as he stumbled back to catch himself against the rear of the carriage.

"She stayed with you because she had no choice!" I closed the gap between us, my blade drawing back over my shoulder in what I knew left me entirely unguarded.

Cowed, he missed his opportunity. Wasting it to glare up at me from where he crouched. "Because you abandoned her!"

The power of my strike against his blade nearly tore the hilt from his hand, the follow through sent him spinning out into the street. "I never abandoned her! You were supposed to care for her all the days of her life! Yet, for days on end she remained in my care while you chased the dragon! You accuse me of abandoning her? Look to yourself, scoundrel!"

Raoul regained his footing far quicker than I had anticipated. Assisted by the wheel of a carriage, he launched himself into a series of swift lunges coupled with advances that caused me to surrender ground until I found myself against the side of another carriage. In a flurry of blocks and parries against his temper tantrum, I heard the tear of fabric and a slight pressure graze against my upper right arm. A quick glance afforded me the knowledge that this spoiled brat had managed to draw first blood! It wasn't a bad cut, just a small trickle of bright red flowing down from it. Turning my heated glare back to him, I saw a new confidence burning in his eyes. "Touche!" He spat victoriously.

"You think that is enough to trouble me?" He didn't anticipate my blade riposting from behind his guard, too late his eyes caught the motion as the steel ran up his rib cage this time with sufficient pressure to cut through to the flesh. " _That_ is a touche!"

Raoul staggered back, his left hand holding the torn edges of his shirt as a small stream of blood began to flow. The moment of false courage faded from his eyes as he retreated behind a carriage.

"That was but a scratch." I called out, stalking my target with patience. "If I had desired to end this quickly, I would have done so before even letting you speak a word. Oh Raoul, can you not see I am only trying to gift you with the chance to finally be a man?"

His terse voice called back from the apparent safety of the carriage that blocked us from one another. "Only you would see it that way, you freak! Stop toying with me! What do you want, you infernal beast?"

The shadows from the street lights revealed the corner where Raoul was waiting for me to come. Apparently, he had forgotten I could throw my voice and clearly was watching in that false direction. I was rewarded with the gleam of gold in the flicker of the lamp as the ring and pinky fingers of his left hand protruded from the ledge of the carriages rear window. A slow smile grew on my lips as I laid my eyes on the simple golden band winking at me, whispering of a sinister plot.

"Erik?" He shouted out once more around the side of the vehicle. "I asked you, what do you want?"

With a precise swing I brought the shining edge of my thirsting blade down through the flesh of the two fingers to slide off the wood beneath them. The clink of the metal band striking the ground filled the moments silence before Raoul's scream tore through the night air. Not the scream of pain. No, this was beyond that, the distinctive scream of a man shocked by what he saw. Stumbling back, Raoul's numbed hand released his blade to fall with a resounding clang as he fell to his knees. Grasping his left hand with his right, his wide eyes stared in horror at the two missing fingers.

Casually, I reached down and freed the ring from the dismembered limb, turning the symbol in the light. "Do not fret, you shall not be needing this meaningless trinket anymore. Many a year ago it ceased to hold any resemblance to its original promise. You asked me what I wanted, boy. I desire to free Christine from this shackle and as I see it, there is but one way." Tossing the ring at him, letting it fall at his feet, I waited for his wide eyes to meet mine. "And I believe you know what the means to that end is."

Wordlessly, his breaths came in rapid shallow gasps as he shook his head. The blood welled out of his severed knuckles, pooling at his feet.

"You best dress that quickly, you are making a terrible mess. Unless you wish to die from blood loss." I shrugged. "I assure you, that is not the best the way to go. So undignified."

With a shaking hand, Raoul pulled out a handkerchief and clumsily secured it around the end of his hand. The fabric wicked crimson as swiftly as he worked. "Why … why are you doing this? Why not just kill me quickly?"

Leaning forward I picked up his blade and turned the hilt within reach, waiting for him to rearm himself. There was no denying who held the upper hand now. "Because, unlike you, I understand what it is to be a gentlemen and give another a sporting chance. It is not my fault you are failing to take advantage of my kindness."

Raoul shook his head. His hand froze in motion, hesitating to seize the blade. It was as though the right limb had a mind of its own and was convinced that surrender was the only course of action. "You're a sadistic murderer! Not a gentlemen! My God! How can you believe this was ever fair?"

I let a short bark of a laugh escape me before replying darkly. "That is the world's harsh truth. Life is **never** fair!" Shoving the hilt into his right hand I set my foot against his shoulder and sent him rolling backwards. "On your feet, coward!" My blade lashed out beside him in a series of cuts, herding him back to his feet, where he frantically attempted to keep his ground and hold even a slight resemblance of a defense. This was a fight for his life, it was time he acted like it.

"You sick demented beast!" Raoul cried out in frustration as I forced him to keep up a tiresome high guard, relentless whip-over slashes from my blade rained down upon him coupled with enough feints to keep him unable to execute anything, aside from a basic parry. "Go back to hell!"

"I will meet you there!" I spun around, using my cloak to cover the angle of my attack. He never saw the blade as it slid down low thrusting up from under the fabric edge to catch him in his gut. It was not the coup de grace, I could tell by the angle my blade had not purchased enough flesh in the blow.

Raoul slid back off my blade, screaming out as he staggered. Two great black shadows shifted to my right, eyes white and wide with fear, he never saw the bulk of the iron shod carriage horse as it reared up trying to get away from the panicked man. He never knew of the hoof that cut his cries short as it collided with his skull … the first time on the rearing stroke and then to come back down upon the back of his skull with the resounding echo similar to a melon striking the street from a great fall.

For a brief heart-stopping moment, I wished to have been him. At least he had no time to contemplate his fate. My peripheral vision caught sight of the second horse closest to me, his panicked limbs shooting up into the air where I had darted in front of him in blind pursuit of my prey. My momentum had once more carried me headlong into danger. There was little I could do but thrust myself back, bringing my right arm up in an attempt to withdraw. It was far too little, too late. I heard the sickening crack and felt a sudden jarring as the hoof collided with my humerus. The impact from the iron shod hoof flung me back like a rag doll out of the path of the spooked carriage horses.

Sprawled on my left side, where I had landed I realized dimly it didn't hurt. Not yet, my heart still pounded in me from the effects of adrenaline. With its blessed surge, I still retained a numbness to pain, for now. Pushing myself up with my left arm, I glanced down to see that my right would not respond, the upper arm bone was angled oddly, but fortunately seemed to still be encased in flesh beneath my coat sleeve. Roughly pulling off my cravat, I used my teeth to tie it off into a makeshift sling to at least support the useless lower arm before climbing to my feet. I claimed my blade and slid it home into the sheath before taking a few tense steps towards the blood smeared cobblestones.

The carriage horses danced nervously in their restraints. Before them lay the trampled body of an unrecognizable corpse. The horse having brought his hooves down upon the fallen man, there was blood and debris everywhere.

My left hand closed into a fist of rage. It had not been mine! The coup de grace had been denied me by yet another sick twist of fate. Trembling with anger, I stared at his corpse, even as the hurried approach of footsteps echoed in my ears I could not make myself look away.

Christine ran before me and embraced my left side. "Erik! Oh God, are you alright?" Her eyes were closed as her hands repeatedly grasped at my coat. When I did not reply or move, she looked up and began to follow where my venomous gaze led.

Even as she took in the horrific sight before her, I reached up with my left hand and turned her away. "No, my dear. Do not look upon what I have done."

She said nothing, only held me tighter in her embrace. I gently ran my fingers up to cradle the back of her head.

Grimly, I became aware of Carnegie staring slack-jawed at the sight from where he stood beside me. He swallowed deeply before turning to me. "Erik, we best go to my office. Now." It was not a suggestion, it was beyond question and I knew what his intentions were. I was to be detained, to await the arrival of the police. He glanced at a coachman who had come to try and calm the horses. "Send them to the Music Hall when they arrive."

Without a word, I turned back toward the hall, Christine draped at my side like a cloak. Not a single word was uttered, our eyes remained cast to the street under our feet as we passed beneath the cold light of the flickering lamps up to the bustling steps of the Music Hall. The lingering crowd before the doors parted as Carnegie led us through and we made our way un-harrassed up to his office, where he shut the door behind us.

I did not wait for the invitation. Gently I guided the bewildered Christine into a chair before I dropped down into one myself. My thoughts whirled around violently, there was no escaping this. There would be no going to ground this time. The adrenaline flooding my system was certainly not helping me concentrate, I felt myself take a shaky breath as my eyes realized Carnegie held a glass of scotch before me. "Take it, you need it." He said sternly. A second glass he held before Christine, the poor dear took it and stared into the dark liquid blindly.

Taking a deep swallow of the scotch, nearly half the contents of the glass, I shifted my eyes to Carnegie where he stood glaring down upon me. "I asked you not to compromise the integrity of this hall, Erik. I charged you with her care. What do you call your actions this evening?"

"Chivalry." I replied, forcing my tone to be calm. "I do not regret what I have done."

He shook his head, throwing his hands up into the air. "Chivalry, oh Erik—do you realize what will happen to you now? A man lies dead in the street. There is no denying the sentence that follows that."

Christine started up from her blind gaze. Gripped with terror, she pawed towards me. "Erik! No! They can't lock you away in prison! It would kill you. You must run! Hide! Erik, please I can't bare to lose you again!" She had buried her face into the wool of my coat, fortunately on my left shoulder and not the right which I had yet to feel.

I brought a soothing hand up to stroke her hair. "Shhh, my child. I will not run from this. I am no coward, whatever fate holds in store so it shall be."

"Erik no!" She cried out, her white knuckled fingers wrinkling the cloth. "I won't let them take you from me!"

"Christine." My voice was soft and firm, without fear. "Look at me. There now, just stop for a moment." My gentle fingers turned her face to the light to reveal the bruise left by Raoul's ring right above her eyebrow where he had struck her, the swelling and bruising fresh. "You see, Carnegie, it was in defense of her honor that I pursued the boy."

Stepping closer, I saw his eyebrows raise as he noted the evidence. "Madame Daae, is this true?"

Sniffing back her tears, she nodded hastily. "It is true. Raoul came out of the crowd in a terrible rage and struck me." She rested her head back against my shoulder. "Erik saw and intervened. He knew, as I had told him that such events had occurred before."

Speechless, Carnegie withdrew as I cradled the now sobbing Christine in my one functioning arm. "He will never harm you again, my love. I have made sure of that." Casting my eyes up at Carnegie I found him withdrawn, deep in thought. "I will accept whatever fate holds." I longed to subdue the tremor that stole through me, I would not admit that I dreaded what should be my sentence for such a crime. I had committed murder, regardless of intentions, the only way for Raoul's death to have been more public would have entailed the feat occurring onstage.

Carnegie took a deep breath before coming over to Christine to lay a hand softly upon her shoulder. There were no more words to be said between us, nothing could change the events that had transpired. "Erik." Christine shook her head into the folds of my coat. "Please run. For my sake, please run away and hide as you have before, save yourself. You know you could never survive being locked in a prison cell."

I was forced to take a deep breath before I found the courage to reply. "That may be true, but it is because of you that I will not run. I will not perform a coward's role. Besides, I have grown weary of running, weary of hiding. It is time for me to face the consequences of my actions."

"It will kill you." She cried softly. "It will surely kill you."

"I know." I held her tightly knowing it might be my last chance.

Standing up, Carnegie paced back and forth between the door and his desk many times before lifting a pen and quickly setting something to a paper he took with him. Pacing back to the door, he leaned his head against the wall, deep in thought until a long awaited knock announced my fate. He opened it to the sight of uniforms. My heart sank, closing my eyes tightly I longed to burn into my memory how she felt within my desperate grasp.

"We heard he was in here with you."

"Yes." Carnegie answered, opening the door a little wider so the investigator could enter. "It's not as it seems, though. This man came to the rescue of this woman."

My eyes shot open in shock, I looked up to find the officer equally surprised. "Are you certain?" He peered back at Carnegie inquisitively who nodded firmly in return.

"Look at her face, officer. The evidence is right there." When she remained clinging to me, Carnegie gently reached out and coaxed her from my shoulder. "Show him what was done."

As she turned her bruised face to the officer, he leaned forward and shook his head. "Striking a lady? Poor dear, the man who was killed did that to you?"

"Yes," she replied, turning her gaze back towards mine. "And he meant to strike me again … but Erik saved me."

Stunned with shock, I was unprepared to do anything save observe the actions of those around me.

Carnegie produced the folded paper and waved a hand to the officer. "The poor dear has been through a lot this evening. Can this wait?"

Opening the slip I noticed it was the size and bore the markings of a private bank note. With a tug on his hat, the officer started to withdraw. "Of course, Mr. Carnegie. Let us know if there is anything further we can do."

Carnegie placed a hand on his forearm. "Since you asked, there is something in exchange. This terrible _accident_ didn't occur, it is not to appear in the newspapers. Is that clear?"

Matter-of-factly, the officer replied, "What accident, sir?"

The door shut behind him as I stared in awe up at Carnegie, finally finding a whisper of a voice in myself. "Thank you … you did not have to do that."

He placed a hand lightly on my right shoulder and nodded. "Yes I did. Who would repair my window?" The smile was tense, but sincere. I couldn't believe he had saved me from a slow death in the misery of a prison cell. More than ever I now owed this man.

I began to laugh at my new found fortune when the wave of adrenaline rapidly ebbed from my body. The bolt of intense pain that burst from my right arm caused me to double over despite Christine still clinging to me. Breath hissed back in as I fought the urge to cry out, fought to keep some meager thread of dignity intact. Beside me, both Christine and Carnegie frantically watched.

"Christine—" I hissed out finally. "Find Nadir, we need to get back to the house quickly so he can reset the bone in my arm! I fear if we wait any longer the swelling will not allow us to."

She darted out of the room, her eyes sick with worry as Carnegie reached down trying to help me up. "Erik, let me assist you home. Are you sure you will be alright?"

"It is just a broken bone." The tears were welling in my eyes as I spoke shakily. "Damn adrenaline, could not have lasted a bit longer."

Despite my efforts to walk unassisted, Carnegie forced himself under my left arm, aiding my shaking passage through the hallway. "It's funny, but even despite your mask, I can tell your color has drained. Erik, I'm not so certain you are going to make it those few blocks on your feet."


	23. Chapter 23

_**Chapter 23**_

Carnegie had been extraordinarily accurate in his observation. As it was, I had barely managed the short supported walk out the front door and into his borrowed carriage for the two block ride. By the time we had reached my door, Nadir and one of the servants were required to practically carry me up the stairs to my chambers where I now lay on my bed concentrating hard on stabilizing my breathing. My coat and shirt had been cut open and fully stripped away in an attempt to spare me the pain of trying to maneuver the swollen limb from their constriction. Bare-chested, sprawled on my back with my black and swollen right arm stretched out at my side, I gritted my teeth in a futile effort to suppress the urge to scream.

"Erik, you will explain to me, when this is over, how you managed to break that bone in half." Nadir leaned over me, his eyes taking in the condition of the broken limb.

I hissed out, "Not now!"

"Surely not now," he hastily agreed. "Once Christine returns from downstairs with the splint and the binding linen I'll set the bone. That's a lot of swelling I'm going to have to work around. You better brace yourself."

"I am trying. Would you hurry up!" Snapping up at him, I clenched my left hand into a fist, pounding it against the mattress in frustration. I was in so much pain that the vibrations did not even register.

He placed a hand upon my left shoulder. "She's coming, I can hear her steps on the staircase. Stop thrashing, that won't help." With a wave of his hand, he gestured to the bed beside me. "Oh good, Christine, you found everything. Even a good make-shift splint. Right here and we can get started."

"Marie helped me find everything you requested." Laying the bundle in front of Nadir who had now shifted to my right side, she took up the space on my left, gently setting a hand upon my shoulder. "Shouldn't we give him some laudanum for the pain?"

"Will not work." I grunted as Nadir tried to be gentle while probing the arm around the break.

"Why?" She took my left hand in hers and held it firmly. My grip tightened more than I had intended against the needles of pain jolting through the limb.

"Erik is right." Nadir sighed, glancing up at her. "Given his history of opiate abuse in various forms over the last several decades, the pain relieving aspects of those drugs have likely dwindled to nonexistent for him. Since laudanum is one of the milder forms it would be entirely useless. Like a thimble full of water on a raging wildfire."

"Now is _not_ the time for a lecture, Daroga!" I glared up at him darkly.

"Besides," he went on. "We're racing against the swelling. Too much more and I won't be able to align the bone properly." He slid the narrow board intended to be the splint next to my arm. "Are you ready?"

I swallowed with a shake of my head. "No. But there is insufficient time for that—just proceed." Taking a deep breath, I exhaled tensely. "Do not tell me when you are going to do it. Just do it."

"Christine, hold him down. If he thrashes I won't be able to keep it aligned."

I growled back! "If you fail to keep it aligned and have to re-break the bone I swear I will break one of yours in return!"

With the patience of a saint, Nadir ignored the acidic tone of my voice and only nodded down at me before raising his eyes to Christine who replied meekly. "I can't hold him down, he's too strong."

"The injury has taken some of his strength from him. If you place all your weight upon him it should keep him still enough."

My breath locked inside my chest, I did not believe my ears! How could he suggest such a thing? Her face flushed for a moment as she cast an awkward glance at Nadir, clearly expressing discomfort with the whole idea. Wasn't he the one crowing about a scandal before? The old Persian merely nodded back, waiting for her to assume the position to restrain me. Inside, I felt my heart alternate between skipping beats and racing to add extra ones. Oh no, not this, not now, not like this! My eyes flashed up to Christine, wordlessly pleading with her not to listen to Nadir. I could hold still. Surely I had enough will power to lie still enough. Or was there something else behind that suggestion? My left hand tightened into a fist as I contemplated slamming it into the side of his face. You conniving wretch! Putting her in between us as a shield knowing that I would rather die than strike her!

The searing pain stabbed at me and rapidly eroded any patience I may have possessed before I shouted out, "Get on with it!"

Casting off any hesitation, Christine lifted up her skirt enough to climb up onto the bed. Straddling my waist she laid down on me, placing the majority of her weight upon my heaving chest. I was trying desperately not to move, but by now the agony was so intense I was powerless to cease my writhing. There she lay upon me, warm and soft, embracing me as though in the throws of passion … and it could not have been farther from the truth. Since I had first laid eyes upon her, after our lengthy exile, there had been a powerful urge within me to lie with her once more. This was hardly the circumstances I had contemplated!

Laying her head upon my left shoulder, her trembling voice whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry, Erik."

It was at that precise moment he straightened the limb with a sudden violent jerk. Nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming surge of white hot agony that tore through me as the damaged tissues grated against the split bone. My head arched back as a primal scream of intense pain tore out of my throat. I hardly felt Christine's nearly insubstantial weight trying to hold me still as I strained against her like a ward chained in an asylum. Futilely, she attempted to offer some comfort as Nadir worked as fast as he could to secure the splint to the naked limb.

Gaining a shred of control, tears welled in my eyes as I fought desperately to remain still. My breathing shortened into harsh panting, interspersed with agony laden cries that accompanied each subtle shift of the wrapping. "Tighter!" I gasped. "Tighter, Nadir! It has to heal straight!"

"Relax, Erik." He replied through my pained haze. "Just lie still, damn it!"

I could not completely quell the writhing. With my eyes shut tightly I concentrated on at least keeping my right arm still for him as whimpers and cries of pain continued to escape me. Delicate fingers embraced my left hand as I felt the steady cadence of her breathing against my chest. Christine's soft voice carried through. "Just breathe with me. He's almost got it, Erik. Just hold on a little longer."

At long last, her weight shifted off my chest. Nadir had the limb wrapped down to my wrist to suppress the swelling. As gently as possible, he bent my arm to rest across my bare chest. The motion triggered a fresh sting of pain causing me to hiss out incoherently. "Easy, now." Nadir assured me. "Christine, I'm going to lift him up, I need you to wrap that wide strip of linen so that it will hold the arm in place against his chest as I have it laid. It cannot shift at all for now."

Age gnarled hands braced behind my neck and beneath my left arm to prop me up as Christine swiftly and fluidly wrapped the linen several times around my back and across my chest, securing the broken arm in place. I was trying to slow down my panting breaths as the waves of pain continued to drown my futile attempts, leaving me gasping for air.

Christine leaned back. "Nadir, I've finished, you can let him rest now."

He settled me back onto the pillows pulling the covers up to just below where my injured arm rested. From the waist up, my shock white skin was dressed in nothing more than a linen bandage wrapped about my bone thin chest. Trembling from the pain, I lost the battle to suppress a pitiful moan as Nadir gathered up the unused linen to set it aside for later. His eyes were creased with worry. "We'll need to figure out something for the pain. I don't know if you've ever broken a bone, Christine. A few years back Erik tended me when I had fallen from my horse, MerhzAd. Fortunately it was only a fractured ankle. But I remember the sensation when his pain remedy wore off. In between the doses the limb was on fire."

Reaching out a trembling hand, I caught Nadir's sleeve forcing him to turn my way. "The laboratory." I was trying to deepen my breaths once more, finding it impossible to speak more than a few words without a sharp inhale. "The book with the … leather binding … old and worn … there's a twisting serpent scribed … on the spine. Bring it here."

With a swift nod, he turned and hastily went for the door. My head fell to the side as another wave of pain wracked me and I dismally wondered how much the nerve that ran along the humerus was involved, if it had been, that would lengthen the healing process considerably. Christine reached down and ran her hand through my sweaty hair. "Hold on, Erik. This will be over soon."

"Not really." I grunted. "Do you know how many weeks it takes for a bone to knit?"

"Don't think about that." She persisted. "Just try and rest."

Sooner than I had even hoped, Nadir entered the room with the precise book I had asked for. Holding it open, he turned the pages at each hasty flick of my finger as I quickly skimmed them knowing what I was looking for, but not even remotely which page it was on. Having lost track of how many pages were turned, at last I saw the critical recipe. My finger shot to the page. "That one! Everything should be in the laboratory, including the herbs. You will want to hurry, it takes a few hours to properly go into solution."

Without a word, Nadir took the book and rushed out of the room. I laid my head back on the pillow, closing my eyes tightly against the pain, to wait out my relief. Trapped in the building world of agony, I gradually became aware of a soft humming trying to lure me from sinking into the dark abyss … the gypsy lullaby I had played on my violin. Christine. Gentle hands caressed me as her tender voice reached out through the disorienting waves. I knew I was trembling and unable to cease in this torment. All I wanted was relief. Desperately, I clung to the distant notes of her music. It was all that kept me aware of the outside world, all that kept me from wailing out as a child.

Hours had passed before Nadir's voice broke through. "Is he awake?"

"Oh yes, he never stopped shaking the entire time" Christine's fingers ran through my hair. "Erik, open your eyes, Nadir has it finished."

I could hardly muster the coordination to hold my eyelids open as Nadir held the flask to my lips pouring it down my throat. It was still warm and tasted bitter as hell. Gagging on it, I forced myself to swallow the foul concoction I had neglected to instruct Nadir to sweeten with a little honey first. There was no way I was going to ask that now, I just wanted it to drag me down into blissful painless sleep. Take me for a brief time into a world where I would feel nothing. Minutes ticked away. Sometimes it was a bane to know the functionality of processes. I wished I had not known it would be at least a quarter of an hour before I would begin the slow fade from reality.

Darkness gradually offered me respite from the torment of my broken arm, brief though it seemed as I began to resurface from the time lapse to the sound of their familiar voices.

"There won't be an alternative." Nadir's voice sounded like it was coming from under water.

"You're certain that is what the notation said?" Christine asked tentatively.

"Have you ever known Erik's penmanship to be anything less than perfection? Yes, I am certain that is precisely what was noted."

I cracked open my eyes to find I could not focus them beyond a blur in the dimly lit room. "What did I note?" I muttered groggily.

Nadir came closer to my side, placing a hand on my left shoulder. "Erik, you don't have a choice this time. You have smoked opium for the last time."

"What do you mean?" My left hand reached up and swatted his hand away in annoyance. "I most certainly have not."

His voice bore grave sympathy. "Yes, you have. In the book, alongside the recipe for the pain reliever was a note warning of the consequences of mixing it with opiates. The results are said to be most certainly lethal. Those were your precise words." Even through the blur I saw him shrug. "You either smoke the opium with a great deal of pain until that bone heals. Or face the withdrawal and at least have some brief hours of respite gifted from the sedative effects."

"No. I cannot quit now." I replied resolutely. "If you recall when I tried earlier I did not make it past day three."

Christine moved in and took my left hand where it hung in midair. "Erik, you have to. I won't lose you to this. And Nadir says the combination would surely kill you."

"He doesn't have a choice." He replied before my half-drugged sluggish wits had the chance to assemble a response. "The remaining opium is going back to the den in a little while, as soon as I finish preparing the next dose of pain reliever." As I wordlessly protested, he continued on. "Christine, he is going to become extremely ill over the next course of days. You just heard Erik confess that his previous attempt failed on day three of the symptoms and despite my attempts to stop him he managed to find his way into the stock. I intend to ensure that does not happen this time by removing all of it from the residence. In his condition, it will be quite impossible for him to make the trip to the Phoenix Pavilion. He will need our help to get him through the process of withdrawal."

"I understand." She embraced my hand tighter. "We won't let him fail."

"No!" I growled, and made the mistake of trying to get up. The end result left me howling in pain.

"Just lie still." She offered soothingly. "You need your strength."

My breath hissed in and out as Nadir nodded. "He will, the effects are already showing. I can see it in the pinpointed eyes and the slight trembling. We need to get as much fluids in him as possible, for soon nothing will stay down long enough to do any good."

"Nadir!" I shouted. "I am not doing this! Not now!"

His blurry image shifted towards the door. "You are not being offered a choice in this. So, yes, you are. Now, if you will excuse me I need to begin prepping your next dose if it is to be ready in time for you to take it."

Gritting my teeth, I glared half blindly at his back before the door shut behind him. "Damn him."

"Erik." Christine rubbed the back of my hand with her fingers. "You shouldn't say such things."

I shifted my useless gaze to the blur of her face and barked. "You think that is bad, give me a few days and I promise you I will be shouting far worse things than simple condemnation!"

She clicked her tongue. "How does your arm feel."

"Sore," I quipped. "The herbs help to take the edge off, making it tolerable. Even after the bone heels it will ache for some years to come. That is the least of my concerns. How can he do this to me! I cannot go through withdrawal right now, not with this!"

"It is for the best," she firmly replied. "We will help you get through this."

I tried to shift my left elbow under me in an effort to dignify myself, however the only result was a strangled cry as I renewed the ache in my right arm. Once I found my voice again, I sighed. "You have not the faintest idea what is going to happen, do you." A ripple of shivering not born of pain passed through my entire body, a forewarning of what was to come. It wouldn't be long before there would be no ceasing to the shaking and convulsions, and worse—much worse. It was clear, I had no choice, for I could not raise my body from this bed to reach my pipe in the other room. I heard in the resolute tone of Christine's voice, that she would not aid me in obtaining my vice regardless of how I tried to sway her.

"It must be this way." I felt a shudder from her hand that did not originate from me. Was it fear? A note of that echoed in her voice. "Erik, I will not lose another to the grip of that horrid vice. If you will not do it for yourself … " Pausing for a moment, she squeezed my left hand tighter, "than do it for me."

I wondered if she knew it was a request I could not deny, simply because it came from her. Exhaling slowly, I rolled my head back and closed my eyes. "Then, it appears I am truly left no choice."

"Erik?"

"Mmm?" The fainest acknowledgment, I did not even desire to open my useless eyes. Eyes that would be incapable of focusing until my body finished being forced to remember how to function without the opium. Scraping together what remained of my tattered pride, I cast away any hope of maintaining it.

Her fingers began to dance in a soft distracting pattern across the back of my hand. "Please don't be upset. I don't want to watch you die."

Roughly, I withdrew my hand from hers, hiding it beneath the covers. "Instead you are content to watch me lie here suffering an indignity worse than death."

"No." She protested, her hand sought out my left shoulder, reaching beneath the blanket. "Not content at all. Erik, please we're doing this because we care about you."

"Mmm hmm." I tensed, bracing myself against a wave that surged through me. "I charge you with maintaining that stance over the course, my dear. A few days from now when I lay here begging for the release of death, I challenge you to tell me this is a kindness with the same level of resolve." If I could have managed to roll away from her, I would have given her the cold shoulder. However the act of doing so was impossible for two reasons. The first was simply the end result of such an action. I would have been rolling onto my broken humerus, which would have been far too painful when weighed against the meaning of the gesture. The second reason was rooted in my inability to even undertake such a maneuver in the first place with my arm tied snugly to my chest.

Her voice was but a desperate whisper. "I will not let you die." A small soft hand searched under the cover to retrieve my left hand. "Not when we have been granted this second chance."

The best I could manage was rolling my head off to the right side, away from her. _Second chance, second chance at what?_ I knew I would wake to find myself alone once more. It would not be long before she would see the ravages of this cruel addiction. Nothing would keep her at my side then. The convulsions were already starting, I could feel the intermittent twinges pulsing in my hand even as she held it. "When is that old goat going to finish the next dose, damn it! I want to be soundly sleeping before the worst begins to hit."

"I'm sure he's wo—"

"How would you know?" I shouted out of frustration, opening my eyes before recalling there was little point and closing them once more. "Are you at his side up in the lab distilling the concoction? No! You are not!"

"Shh, you're going to hurt yourself if you keep fussing like that." Running her hand through my hair in a futile attempt to calm me, she leaned over.

"I am not a child!" I growled. "Stop treating me like one!" It was an unfortunate timing for a strong wave to rip through me, this time I had been unable to brace to counteract the convulsion of my right arm. Even secured as it was did not mean the muscles were entirely immobilized. With a stinging stab, I felt the raw fibers forced to engage. It stole any attempt I could have made to suppress my cry of shock. Beside me, she was trying to offer some comfort, trying to soothe me; her heartfelt efforts only driving me to greater agitation. Why couldn't I just roll over and curl into a ball to vanish beneath the covers of my bed? I wanted nothing more, when at this moment I was forced to lie flat on my back. "Just leave me alone!"

"I only want to—"

"I know!" This wasn't her fault, it was entirely unfair of me to take my frustration out upon her. It took me a moment to push back the grating agitation, "I know you are just trying to help. But Christine … right now I just need a little space to breathe." I needed an excuse, something to remove the sting from my request. "The pain, my child. I fear it is making me a little short tempered."

The silence stretched out before I heard her guarded reply. "You should be resting."

"Indeed, he should be resting." Nadir walked through the door and straight up to the bedside holding out a small bowl for me to drink from. "Inside a quarter hour you'll be sleeping soundly and not feeling a thing. However, I suspect when you wake … "

Having swallowed the bitter medicine, I nodded. "Circumstances will have changed, I know the time frame by now, Daroga. Watch yourself once I recover, I swear I will make you pay for putting me through this."

He snorted a short laugh. "And tell me how it is my fault you broke your arm and required this treatment?"

"Silence." I scowled.

"Just get some sleep and heal, Erik. You'll be back to your old tricks long before I desire it. Christine, I'll return after my trip to the den to see how he is fairing. Once the drug takes him, he should sleep for several hours. These hours will be his only comfort."

It wasn't long after the resounding click of the door before I felt the fog drifting in, the relentless tug pulling me down into a dark dreamless slumber. My only wish was that it had lasted longer.

* * *

Shortly before I could muster enough coordination to open my eyes, I became aware of the most disconcerting sensation originating deep within my gut. Wave after wave of nausea built with alarming intensity until the sheer force of the impending upheaval was sufficient to launch me into full consciousness. Clumsily, I somehow managed to twist further onto my left side enough to lean my head over the edge of the bed as my intestines tore themselves apart. A cool hand rested on the back of my neck as a bowl hovered before me, awaiting the inevitable product of my violent retching. Within a few strong convulsions, everything I had previously consumed disgorged with a disquieting splash. Once everything was empty, my body seemed to have missed the message there was nothing left to bring up. The convulsions continued unabated, the burning of the muscles producing a torturous heat.

"Stop … " I gasped, panting for breath between the twisting, wrenching pain. "Nothing more … just stop … please."

The cool hand stroked the back of my neck, not a word accompanied the gentle motion. Just the relentless slide of bare skin against bare skin. Time lost all relevance as I hung my head over the edge, dry heaving in perfect misery. Sweat dripped in torrents down my face as my body continued to betray me. I would not have wished this fate upon anyone, not even my gravest enemy. Gradually I became aware of the dysfunction of the muscles throughout my entire body as muscle groups painfully convulsed at random.

"I cannot do this … " I rocked my head back and forth as a firm hand helped me lay back upon the bed, settling me upon my left side in case the retching should once more commence.

Christine's voice reached out, "Yes you can, Erik." I felt her lay a cool damp cloth across my forehead. "I'm here and I am not leaving you. Just rest."

The cool cloth felt nice against my burning skin. Against my skin … my skin … oh God, the mask! My hand lashed out to discover my mask was indeed missing as the welling panic overtook me. "My mask! Where is my mask? No, no, I cannot be without it. Where is it? It cannot be lost!"

Gently but firmly her hand encircled my wrist and pulled my frantic hand away. "Easy, Erik. It's right here on the nightstand beside you."

"No one can see me like this!" I wailed out, reaching my hand desperately for it, my vision was a seemingly unending blur.

"Shh." Her hand once more restrained my thrashing limb, enclosing my hand within hers while the fingers of her right hand traced small circles on the malformed skin of my forehead. "No one else will see you. Just Nadir and myself. We are the only ones allowed to enter this room. The mask gets in the way of caring for you. Just relax, there is no need for this panic."

I felt the sting of tears as they overflowed my eyes to trail down the thin skin of my cheeks. "It protects me." It was so childish, the belief held throughout the fears of my childhood. "It was supposed to protect me from the world as long as I wore it."

Leaning over me, I felt the brush of her hair against my bare face. Despite the blurring of my vision, I was sure she was smiling down at me. "I will be your protection now. You have nothing to fear." She wrung out the cloth over a small bowl of water on the nightstand before laying it back over my forehead. The cool water dripped down in rivulets against my feverish skin, simple relief. It wasn't much, but it helped even just to know I was not alone as I descended into this inevitable hell my addiction had created.

Trying to collect my scattered thoughts, I wanted to say more. I needed the comfort and security my mask lent me. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, all I could muster now in my shaking fit was a feeble stuttering that amounted to utter nonsense.

"Hush now." Christine ran her fingers over my forehead. "There are no monsters. Nothing has come to hurt you. No one is going to lock you up in an asylum. You are staying right here. It is just us in this room, in your home. You and me. Nadir will be up shortly with another dose to help you sleep again."

"It hurts. Everything hurts." I whimpered, aware that every fiber of my being was protesting to the utmost extent the distaste for the current state of affairs. "Make it stop."

"In time, my Love." Her hand embraced mine. "Just give it some time and once more everything will be alright."

"It has never been alright in the first place!" Crying out, I felt the shaking intensify until the collisions of the brass rings from the heavy bed curtains rang out in a cacophony of toneless chimes. "I have never been alright and I never will be! Sanity is beyond my grasp! My mother said it, even … even Nadir said so!"

"Shhh. Relax, Erik. Just relax."

There was nothing I could do, there was no way to cease this torment. A prisoner in my own skin, I sobbed. "I cannot! I want to die! Just let me die!"

Nadir softly walked into the room, a dark blurry shadow trying to be unobtrusive. "Christine, has he kept anything down at all?"

"No." She replied with a sigh, still gently holding my convulsing left hand in her reassuring embrace.

"I assumed as much." I saw a shimmer of something in his hand. "Which is why I decided to try this instead." Christine withdrew as Nadir took up the space beside me. "Erik, I need you to listen carefully, is there any reason that compound cannot be injected, like morphine?"

Sluggishly I forced my thoughts to roll around the question. "No … " my teeth chattered in the sudden cold sweat. "Should work." If I was right or wrong it hardly mattered to me now. Death would end this far sooner.

"Good." I felt his fingers probing my forearm feeling for the vessels. "Then that's what we're going to do. I have your old morphine syringe loaded with the herbal pain reliever, but I am no expert in this process. So bear with me. At least you had been injecting the other arm, the veins in your left arm aren't as scarred."

It was a sensation I had not felt in ten years. The pinch and sting of the needle piercing the flesh to enter the vein, the slow burn of the foreign fluid mixing with the blood.

"Sleep should come swifter by this method, Erik." He withdrew the needle and gently blotted away the hot blood droplets that followed. "Allah willing, it should last longer too. Just let it take you."

I welcomed the gradual numbing sensation that tugged me down and away from reality, I welcomed the soothing warmth that blanketed the pain throughout my whole body. Too soon I would wake again. Yes, take me down into the sweet embrace. Let me rest for a time.

* * *

So became of my dismal existence, a dizzying array of brief blurred images flickering before the piercing burn of the injection that would draw me back into my refuge of numbed darkness. Uncounted, unclear, incomprehensible, a mere jumble of vague interactions typically involving some form of impatient outburst which usually degraded to a pathetic struggle to fight. I heard their words, I knew they only wished to help me, but the effect was wasted. My willpower flickered to a shameful dying ember under the roaring blaze of the withdrawal that only added to the deep ache of my broken arm. Next to the endless shaking, that caused my entire body to feel as though I had swum the entire Atlantic ocean in one trip complete with the frigid chills, that simple injured bone was reduced to a mere trivial ache. Had I the energy to summon in my brief semi-lucid moments, I would have throttled Nadir to a pulp for forcing this upon me. In fact, I am not altogether certain I had not tried at least once. I do recall faintly a rather vicious struggle when he was trying to inject the vein. Apparently it resulted in a fairly decent amount of blood.

"Erik? Easy now." Christine's voice broke through. I found my head was resting in her lap, she was sitting where the pillows should have been, leaning over me and gently stroking my face. "Shhh, don't startle, just lie still."

Words were getting much more difficult for me to string together even in my mind. Speaking them through a dry throat was even more taxing. "Why … left arm … stings?"

"The last injection did not go so well, Erik." Nadir entered the room carrying a set of fresh sheets, the tone of his voice carrying a great deal of displeasure. "You made quite a mess when you fou—"

Christine cut him off shortly. "Seizured." Even my blurred vision could not hide the glare she cast at him. "You had a terrible seizure during the injection, the needle slipped and cut you. That's all. It's not too bad, but we need to change the bedclothes. Nadir did not want to disturb you while you slept."

My eyes clumsily drifted down to the blur of white that dressed my upper forearm, I could hardly recall what had happened, but I was almost certain she was lying about what had truly transpired. Brief shouts and a lot of pressure lingered in my tattered memory. My shoulder ached as though it had been straining against a great weight, my knuckles felt like they had been bruised. None of that evidence of a seizure.

"Alright, let's lift him up and get this done with." Nadir strode over and flung the covers back. I felt no difference in the chill of the room, confirming my suspicions as to where the plaguing cold sensation really originated from. "Can you make the bed, Christine?"

"Of course." She gave a little laugh. "No need to call a servant in."

Arms slid beneath me. "Brace yourself, Erik. I will try to do this quickly and carefully. I'm warning you, if you struggle it will only make things worse." He gave me no time to summon a response before I felt my body lifted and carried a short distance to be settled upon a blanket on the floor. "By Allah you've lost weight!"

" … silence … " I croaked up at him, there was something odd about his face. As he leaned closer, it became a little clearer, a darkening about his right eye. It looked rather like a bruise. Flexing my fingers, I pondered if that was why my hand hurt. Closing my eyes, I moaned as a wave of nausea stole my train of thought. Why would my stomach refuse to relent, there had been nothing in it for God knew how long! Dismally, I reached up towards his blackened eye. My rough voice trembled as the fingers touched the swelling. "I hit you … I do not remember it, but I hit you. Nadir … I cannot stop this, cannot control it. I have lost the ability to control anything." The slow panic started to seep into me like the piercing of a freezing rain. "Oh God, Nadir! Do not lock me away! Do not turn the key!" The darkness would claim me. The few I had dared to get close to in this world would abandon me, casting off my burden from their lives. And they would be better because of it! "Not an asylum! I am sorry I ruin everything I touch! I promise to behave, I swear I will try harder to be good! Do not lock me away!"

"There will be no asylum for you, Erik. No one is sending you anywhere. Save your strength." Nadir clasped my left hand, his voice emulated true concern. "You have a long way to go yet before things get better." He leaned a little closer, whispering, "I know how little you have been conscious, but she has not left this room. Not for a moment, regardless of my urging. She has barely slept least you wake in a panic. I have told her how your words will not always be your own right now, that the pain and suffering speaks greater; for you have muttered and shouted how she will leave and you will be abandoned." I opened my eyes to see him shaking his head. "Even I am now convinced she will not abandon you. I do believe this is all very real. I would not dare to give you false hope, Erik. But right now, you must cling to something or there is no way you will survive. Live for her!"

Thoughts tumbled through my mind, I heard my tired voice trying desperately to construct even a single coherent phrase.

Nadir sighed. "Shh … don't even try to speak."

"The bed's all made, you can settle him back in. I'm sure they can get the blood stains out, at least I hope they can."

Once more, I felt my limp frame lifted into the air and settled back into the cool embrace of my bed. The heavy covers slid up to my chest. How I longed to be fully conscious and not convulsing. How I longed to be able to construct clear sentences once more. How I longed to eat again. I wasn't even hungry right now, but it had been so long ago in my memory since I had eaten, that I found a desire for the comfort of that ritual I once took so gravely for granted! No one could hide the evidence from me, I was growing seriously exhausted. Nadir did not even need to remark to Christine as he did, of his concern that I would not outlast this trial.

* * *

I felt the mask slip over my face before I opened my eyes, unable to recall if I had simply lost track of the world briefly, or if I had wakened once more past another injection. How long has it been? Christine's voice beckoned someone into the room. "Thank you dear, right over here." She was seated beside my bed now as Charles carried a fresh bowl towards her. "You're such a great help right now, Charles. Thank you."

Beside the bed, Charles's eyes flicked, visible by the brief flash of their whites to my prone figure. "Mother, is … _father_ going to be alright?" His voice was tentative, the singular word seemed foreign, strange, even baring a little uncertainty. It took a moment for it to register, _he called me father! She must have told him._

Beneath the covers I stirred, fighting for some words, desperate to speak. My efforts only resulted in a dry throated coughing fit.

"Erik, you need to lie still now. Shhh, darling." Her fingers stroked my temples, waiting for me to cease my feeble attempts to communicate, before she turned to Charles who was now staring at me. "He's very ill, my little Angel. But your father is a very strong man, he will fight his way back to us."

Long moments of silence stretched away before I detected the sensation of his delicate fingers embracing my hand. They were warm and so full of life. Heat, heat is relative, why was that coming to my thoughts now? It was a discussion I had had sometime ago … Shivering in the cold drenching sweat as I lay there, my eyes sought his, even though I could not focus.

"Please get better." His voice pleaded with me. "You need to teach me how to play like you can. I want to learn all the amazing things you do. Why, why didn't you tell me you were my father?"

A hot tear rolled down my face, trailing beneath the mask. How much had she told him? Had she gone through what a jealous monster I had once been, caging her under the opera house even as I had imprisoned myself? Life seems so simple in youth, time harshly teaches the tongue to keep some things silenced. Right now, nothing coherent was issuing from mine. All I could manage was a weak raspy moan.

"Shhh, both of you." Christine placed her hands around ours. "There will be a time to explain everything, but that time is not now. Charles, Erik needs to rest if he is to get better."

"I want to help." His fingers slipped away as Christine withdrew her own. "There must be something I can do."

"There is, my dear." Crossing the room to the wardrobe, I saw the shadow of the doors being opened. "Look through here and find me a few of his older shirts, preferably with some wear on the right sleeve. Knowing Erik he'll want to be able to dress himself as soon as possible, but the sleeve will get in the way of his splinted arm. I have an idea of how to help him."

What was she planning to do with my clothing? I have a personal tailor. What could she possibly have in mind? My stamina gave out before I ever had the chance to learn, or maybe Nadir came in and drugged me. That had to be it, as I could not attain sleep without the herbs. A side effect of the infernal withdrawal was incessant insomnia, this symptom alone drove most to insanity long before the body remembered how to live without the previous drug.

* * *

The hazy fog continued to descend upon me relentlessly until even the ability to shiver was lost. "Christine, is he awake?"

"Yes." She sighed, drawing a gentle finger across my bare cheekbone. "The shaking ceased hours ago. He's not moving but I know he is conscious due to the altered breathing. It's much deeper and slower when he's unconscious."

Nadir reached out and stuck his hand into the open palm of my left. "Erik, open your eyes." It was a tiny crack, but it took too much effort to sustain before the muscles closed once more of their own accord. "I want you to squeeze my hand with everything you've got. Come on, Erik. You're mad at me for doing this to you, here is your chance to hurt me."

"What are you doing, Nadir?"

"Trying to get him angry." He replied warily when I failed to comply. "Come on, Erik. I need you to fight. Hurt me!"

I felt my fingers twitch, pulling fiber by fiber across the bones in a trembling grasp. It burned and ached, each feeble twist. It took everything just for this miniscule motion. I barely felt any pressure at all beneath them.

"That is all you have?" Withdrawing his hand, Nadir faded back towards the window. "That is all that you have left?"

"What, what is it?" She slipped onto the bed, lifting my unresisting head into her lap. "Nadir, don't you dare stay silent now! You're scaring me."

"He's too weak." Grief edged into his voice. "It will be a miracle if he makes it through the rest of this. He needs fluids badly, and those are still not staying in him."

"He's going to make it." She stated devoutly, I felt her hand stroking my bare collarbone. "You are wrong. He has made it this far, he will live through this. No! Don't you even argue that! Silence, Nadir! Not one more word of that possibility. He is going to live through this and that is final!"

"Christine, we need to be rea— "

"Get out!" Her hand shot towards the door. "Out of this room now! You may only return with the medicine when it is time, and you are forbidden from speaking anything more unless it's about him recovering."

I heard the door shut quietly before the silent tears fell upon my face. Only the sound of our intermingled breathing disturbed the tomb-like silence. She fought to keep from sobbing, I simply struggled for each fatiguing breath.

"Erik, I know you can hear me." She embraced me, like a guardian angel wrapping her charge in a protective embrace. "You need to listen. Don't give up, I cannot do this without you." Her tears flowed freely, cascading down to drench my face. "I love you too much to go on without you."

Imprisoned within my body, I had no way to reassure her I had not given up, that her words lent me strength I utterly lacked in the present. All I could do was continue my raspy breathing to assure her I still dwelt among the living. It seemed like years crawled by, no longer able to even open my eyes, it was a horrid torture unlike any other. I could hear them around me, but entirely stripped of my ability to respond I was completely isolated.

* * *

Light speared through the darkness. Had I passed on at last? Everything felt warm as I lay on my back. The sound of not only my breathing but the sound of another cadence carried through. Opening my eyes slowly, I looked up at the tester board above my bed to study the intricate carvings. Gradually it dawned on me, I could actually see them clearly. For an unknown period of time I had been unable to focus, now I could see the swirling patterns in the woodwork. Rolling my head to the right, my peripheral vision caught a figure. Curled up in the bed facing me was an angelic vision, sweet and beautiful, full of strength and devotion. Her hand was a gentle curl upon the pillow emerging from beneath the blanket we shared. Were my eyes deceiving me? After what I had been through, I would not be surprised. This could not possibly be real. Slowly, painstakingly, I lifted my left hand and made the journey towards the figure beside me. Flesh touched flesh, fingers encircled hers before inciting a reaction as they responded in kind to the contact. Our hands embraced as her eyes opened to find mine staring in wonder at her.

"You are real … you stayed." My voice was raw, hardly a hoarse whisper rasped through a dusty dry throat.

Her other hand reached out to caress around my eyes. "And you're back. Your eyes are normal." Despite the dark circles beneath her weary eyes, she smiled warmly. "I knew you would live. I just knew you wouldn't give in to this."

"Tired … " I sighed, my hand falling prey to the force of gravity. "So exhausted."

Leaning up on one elbow, she nodded. "Not surprising, nothing has gone into you for days now. You need to drink and eat again. Let me go fetch you some broth and tea. We'll start simple. Stay here." She rolled out of bed and almost danced to the door.

"No choice." I shook my head. "Gravity is stronger."

"Once you're eating again you'll be better in no time." Vanishing out the door, she left me waiting for her return. Despite my own weariness, a slow smile crept onto my face. She stayed. She told our son I was his true father, and she stayed. There was a chance for me after all. Fate had seen fit to place the pieces of this chess game in such an array as to give me a chance for one little victory. The price had been dear. I would never fully recover my shattered pride. I was still left wondering what the future would bring. At least, now I knew I would have the chance to actually see it.

* * *

An untold number of days later, I stepped out into my study for the first time since falling ill. Christine had seen fit to artfully remove the right sleeve and re-hem a number of my shirts to ease my ability to dress myself. At least now my bone had knit enough to no longer require being bound to my chest. Now it resided in a cravat make-shifted into a sling. I did not bother putting a vest over the button shirt. This was far less than I would like to be wearing, and I felt almost naked as I walked about my study. There was no doubt I had grown horribly thin from the lengthy convalescence. If any compared me to a skeleton before, now it was remarkably close to literal. Beneath my loose shirt, every rib could be counted from across the room. Though I could walk with a decent amount of coordination, I lacked any stamina.

Searching the top of my desk, I found something important missing. My ledger was gone. The entire leather-bound volume had vanished.

"I see the Persian fog has finally lifted."

I threw Nadir a weary smirk over my shoulder. "How long have you been waiting to tell that little gem?"

"Longer than you ever will know. I'm glad to see you strong enough to cross the threshold of your bedchamber." He smiled warmly as he entered the study. "Seriously, Erik, there was a long period of time where I swore even you lacked the strength to make it through."

Still searching for my ledger, I shrugged. "The world is prone to underestimating me. Where the hell is it?"

A short laugh greeted me. "If you are looking for what I think you are, I have taken care of the business in your stead. But it is downstairs. You should not be worried about such trivial things until you have fully recovered."

I glared darkly at him, rapping my fingers on the wooden surface. "How long has it been?"

Shaking his head, he withdrew his eyes from my gaze. "No one is going to tell you. There is no need for you to know how long it took."

"Daroga." I growled irritably. "Do not play games with me!"

Spreading his hands wide disarmingly, he replied. "It is not a game, merely what you need. Just relax and finish healing. Your arm needs more time and you have yet to rebuild any reserve. I have handled things as you wish. In case you did not recall last evening; Christine left this morning for the dock, the arrangements were made as you desired."

My eyes fell to the desktop. "His remains are being sent back to Paris then?"

"I made the arrangements myself." He nodded. "As you instructed, on one of your ships. She wrote the letter personally and felt the need to see him off on his final journey."

A knot caught in my throat. "She is right to have done so, even though he was a fool."

"Erik." Nadir rebuked. "You're speaking ill of the dead."

I rolled my eyes. "He would not be dead if he had been intelligent for a single moment."

"Show a little compassion."

"You are asking a little much of me, Daroga."

Nadir chuckled. "And I had hoped this experience would change you."

"This experience." I growled, feeling my nails drawing across the marble top of my desk. "This experience has been absolute hell and you are to blame for it! The broken bone was enough! To add withdrawal on top of it? You nearly killed me!"

He held up a finger. "Helped you, Erik. In the long run you will thank me for freeing you from that vice."

"Oh really." I stared levelly at him before reaching over and seizing the heavy crystal decanter from the stand. "Then," hefting the weight in my left hand I offered him a devious smile, "you will thank me for freeing you from yours." With a smooth arc, I let the shimmering vessel fly out the balcony window in a cascade of glowing whiskey rain as the stopper gained more momentum than the main vessel. It was a beautiful sight as the light caught in the prismatic cut of the decanter before gravity stole it from our vision.

Nadir stumbled in disbelief to the balcony. "Erik! How could you do that? I can't live without my whiskey!"

Coming up behind him, I clapped my left hand on his shoulder, adding in a mock cheerful tone. "If I can survive without my opium, I think you can exist without your whiskey."

"That was an expensive crystal decanter." He cried out, shoulders sagging as he stared at the broken shards.

" _Was_ I believe is an accurate description. Now it is a priceless pile of prisms."

His eyes stared widely at me as he withdrew from my arm. "How could you do this to me?"

The reaction only broadened my smile. "Gravity did most of the work for me." Walking out onto the balcony I glanced at the mess below. "Amazing force, truly. One learns just what a great effect it can have when one lacks the power to overcome it."

"What has come over you?" He turned back into the study, his hands nearly tearing his hair out by the roots.

"Monsieur Nadir … " A voice from the door stole his attention. "There are visitors downstairs for Master Erik. Shall I tell them … " At that moment Marie's eyes discovered that I was coming in from the balcony.

"Inform them I will be down momentarily. Make certain they are comfortable in the sitting room in the meantime." My left hand dismissed her with a gesture.

"Erik, do you really think you are ready to receive visitors?"

I tossed him a glare. "I grow weary of these rooms and wish to move a bit more again. I will be fine." He shifted to help me across the room, and was met by a shrugging off of his hand. "I will be fine on my own. I will just take the stairs slowly."

"Stubborn as always." He huffed.

"So stubborn, I refused to let death take me."

As promised, I took the steps painfully slowly. Entering the sitting room, I was greeted by the sight of Carnegie and Damrosch, their eyes bright until they actually saw me. Both became instantly cast with worry.

"Erik—dear heavens what happened to you?" Damrosch approached me, taking in every inch of me as I stood in the doorway.

"Good to see you too, Damrosch." I replied nonchalantly to the both of them. "Forgive me, I have not long been free from the confines of bed rest."

"I thought it was only a broken arm." Damrosch shook his head in bewilderment.

Striding to the table with the decanter, I poured three glasses. "Oh that it were only that." I sighed. "Damrosch, would you mind bringing Carnegie his glass?" Wriggling the fingers of my right hand, I made it obvious there was a hindrance to being able to fully display my hospitality. As he fetched his glass and that of Carnegie, I took my own and crossed the room to the high-back chairs. "You know little of this, my dear Damrosch. However, Carnegie you recall when you stumbled in upon my overindulgence some time before the Music Hall's opening gala. I can assure you, that is undoubtedly a vice of my past." Silence as my words sunk in, my eyes studied the whiskey in my glass as I swirled it idly.

"No wonder you look as though you have been dragged through hell." Carnegie shook his head in awe. "You truly have if you underwent opium withdrawal."

I nodded slightly before taking a deep draw of the whiskey, no small hint of guilty pleasure as I enjoyed a nip of the vice I was about to deny Nadir out of sheer revenge. I would shortly be ordering the barrels stricken from the cellar. There was only one place to obtain it from and he lacked the immediate connections to get it.

Damrosch stared at me, his hands limply holding the glass as he stuttered. "You were an opium addict? The whole time?"

A small chuckle escaped me. "Longer than you have been alive, young Damrosch."

"Andrew, you knew about this?" He turned his surprised gaze upon the Scotsman.

"Only recently." The reply was accompanied by a shrug. "I must say, you look remarkably well for someone who has undergone such an experience."

Leaning back in my chair, I raised my glass. "How very polite of you to understate the truth. However, Carnegie, I am well aware what a train wreck I resemble at the moment in my current attire. How very sad it is when a man lacks the ability to even be able to properly tie a cravat about his neck. My shirt even lacks one of its sleeves, quite on purpose I might add."

Damrosch's eyes were locked upon my right arm where it hung secure in the sling. "Erik, I truly must ask, do you think your arm is going to heal sufficient for you to play again?"

Finishing the mouthful of whiskey I had taken as he asked the question, I set the glass down and shrugged. "I will not be able to answer that question for sometime. Why is it of consequence to you?"

He wrung his fingers as he sorted out the words. "I was hoping you would audition for first chair violin."

The question stunned me into a moments silence. Would I ever be able to play like that again? I wasn't particularly young, and the older one gets the longer it takes for bones to heal. The weaker the healed portion as well. Rolling my head back, I looked to the ceiling. "It would not be for some time if I did. It will need to remain immobile for some weeks yet, then it shall take a good month or more to rebuild lost muscle and rework dexterity. To regain everything I have lost … hrm, it would mean the soonest would be the winter season. And that would not even be fully back to normal." Wriggling my fingers I was content to feel only the faintest twinge of pain now. "It seems the nerve has not been compromised, which is fortunate, as that could have very permanently ended any hope in that venture."

"But … " He waved a hand, urging a reply. "You will consider it?"

Tossing him a glance, I shrugged. "Perhaps. I make no promises in this respect."

"Erik." Carnegie leaned forward. "Would you truly deny the world the chance to be moved by your talent?"

"Gentlemen," I replied smoothly. "Shall we see what portion of my talent I still possess after I recover, before we ask that question? It is sadly entirely possible that I may be incapable of drawing the bow with sufficient dexterity to be able to play the violin at all."

"Heaven forbid!" Damrosch started. "Erik, precisely how did you break yo—oof!" Carnegie's elbow sharply impacted his ribs accompanied by a warning glare. Apparently the topic had been dubbed off limits, something that Damrosch was only just being made aware of.

Clearing my throat, I settled back in my chair. "So, how has business been at the Music Hall in my absence?"

Carnegie smiled. "The five night gala was a fantastic success. We are the talk of the elite in the community. They are asking us what is next."

Damrosch shifted in his chair. "While you will not be performing for a while, can you at least join us at the hall for planning events?"

"Of course. Give me a few more days to recover more stamina and I will relish the opportunity to get out of my house. Besides, I can just about guarantee very shortly I shall be growing weary of my nursemaid, Nadir."

"Oh, that man who was guarding the door on our previous visits informing us not to tell you how long it has been?" Damrosch replied nonchalantly.

I sighed. "Yes. That would be him. And I take it you are both going to follow his instructions."

Both men nodded firmly in reply. "For your own good, apparently."

"So be it." I leaned back, casting my eyes at the ceiling. It was at the last moment that I caught the little shadow streaking across the room. It gave me less than a second to brace for impact and reach out my left arm to catch the rascal.

"Father! I'm so excited!"

"Easy, Charles!" I held the squirming boy at bay with my one good arm. "Remember, my arm has yet to finish healing. Do not break it again or it shall take longer. And where are your manners?"

"Sorry Father." He stepped back and offered a bow. "Good morning Monsieur Carnegie, Monsieur Damrosch." After the formality he turned back to me bouncing on his heels. "When do we get to go?"

"Go?" I inquired curiously. "Go where, my boy?"

"To the carousel in Central Park like you promised."

Pausing a long moment, I wracked my brains. "Promised? When did I make such a promise?"

"Last night." His fingers toyed with the edge of his jacket as he refused to meet my gaze. "About a quarter hour after monsieur Nadir gave you your medicine. Right about the time your eyes get all glazey."

"You little imp!" I shook my head disapprovingly. Beside me the gentlemen cracked a little grin. If I had not been the victim of this little prank I should have been proud of the boy for being so diabolically perceptive! "Charles, it is not proper of you to take advantage of someone like that."

"But you _did_ promise." He twisted his foot in the rug.

I exhaled slowly before I found the words. "You tricked me to get that promise. Your mother may not be up to such a visit today after she returns from the docks."

His eyes dropped to the floor in disappointment. "So we might not go today?"

I shook my head slowly. "That will be for your mother to decide when she returns home and I inform her as to what you have done."

"I only wanted to see the horses," he pouted.

At that moment I saw Marie walk by the door. "Mademoiselle Marie, would you take young master Charles out to see Master Jacques. Tell him to show Charles the horses, but keep him away from Faust."

Charles instantly brightened up, dancing at the arm of my chair. "Are they painted horses?"

I laughed. "Charles, they are _real_ horses."

"You have real horses? Breathing ones?"

"I should hope so. They can hardly pull a carriage without breath in their lungs. Now run along with Marie and behave yourself. No more deception."

"Right Father!" He padded along beside her out the door, happy as a lark.

Carnegie smiled. "How generous of you to take the child in as your own."

My eyes remained locked on his retreating figure. "Timely is more the word I would use."

"Timely?" Carnegie rolled the word around before his gaze turned back to me with the raise of an eyebrow. "So the title of father means more than just a formality." When I only nodded, he continued. "In Paris you were closer to your student than just as a mentor."

I looked down into my lap and replied quietly. "It was consensual. But yes, I knew the moment I saw him that he was mine. My only regret is having not stayed with her in Paris. However, if I had I likely would not be alive today."

"Erik." Damrosch stared at me in shock. "You weren't married to her, were you?"

I laughed bitterly. "No, I had never possessed the courage enough to ask her for her hand. I suppose that is another regret I should add. She intends to stay here in America, speaking of nothing left for her back in Paris. There remains no family of her own. The Chagny household never cared for her. Being noble-blooded they considered her beneath them."

Carnegie gave a snorting laugh. "Sounds a little familiar. It's all about who you love, not whose money they came from."

"High birthing means nothing, in some cases it even spoils them to the core. One needs to invest in their own success to know its worth, not be handed someone elses."

"I'll drink to that." Carnegie raised his glass. In turn, I grabbed my own and raised it as Damrosch joined in. "To many years of success in whatever we do, Gentlemen!"

"Cheers." Our glasses clinked in unison before we gulped down the remainder of our whiskey.

"So Erik, when you are fully recovered what will you do?"

I smiled broadly. "I have a few ideas in mind. But thanks to you, Carnegie I have a very important part to play in your music hall. A roll I intend to spend the remainder of my days fulfilling."


	24. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

A turn of the wheel of time, the seasons came around full circle to the abundant sound of birdsong. For the first time since building my residence beside Central Park, I realized how much I enjoyed the outdoors. Winter had been a whirlwind of concerts for the first year of the Music Hall, I found myself tethered to the building, caught up in the excitement of the season. The construction of the hall had indeed coaxed me into the company of the human race. However there had been a certain isolation lent to me through my duties. With the commencement of the winter concert season, there was no escaping the flurry of the world I had spent my life hiding from. As the Symphony Societies first chair violinist, there was an endless series of rehearsals to prepare for the festivities. I confess to being a little surprised there had been no competition for the position. I had arrived as Damrosch had requested, played for him my audition piece, a little composition I had been working on. Immediately upon withdrawing my bow from the strings, I turned to find the other violinists setting their bows aside in concession. After that, if it wasn't a Symphony rehearsal I was attending or an event I was planning, then I could be found in the recital hall giving vocal lessons to the Oratorio Society. Never was I more content then when Christine stood beside my piano. She had joined the society in the summer when I had recovered enough for my stubborn pride to refuse the vast majority of her help. Since the end of summer, rarely was I at home. Save for those nights when we curled up beside my hearth where I would tutor young Charles in music. She had stayed.

This day was beautiful, the sky a wondrous shade of azure interrupted only by the occasional cloud. Central Park was crowded with patrons of all ages. The stately elders mingled in the shade on benches, simply enjoying the air. Families spread out on picnic blankets along the banks of the pond. Children pulled toy boats on strings along the bank, or tossed bread to the ducks floating further out. In the distance, the joyful cries of the children on the carousel danced in the air. Casting my eyes to the wide open sky, I caught a glimpse of the brightly colored kite Charles and I had made this morning. As we launched it into the air for the maiden flight, the wonder in his eyes when I insisted the simple structure would sustain flight would forever be with me. It was still airborne.

With my Stradivarius in hand, the branches of a sturdy oak cradled me. I proceeded from the second movement of Vivaldi's _La primavera_ into the more active third movement. I felt like a bird trilling in the lush new growth of the year, lending my song to the beauty of this world. I no longer shunned the light of day. The sun shown down upon me through the leaves. Around the base of the tree Faust flicked his tail leisurely as he grazed while a lazy breeze caught my cloak and stirred it.

Couples out for a stroll wandered vaguely in the direction of my tree, curious eyes glancing into the branches at what must have been a strange sight. A masked man sitting on the branch of a tree dressed for a concert and delivering on his violin to nobody in particular. Smiling! I was truly smiling. There was no malice in my mood, no anger or fear directed at the world it had taken me a lifetime to even begin to embrace.

"Look dear, it's that man from the Music Hall we heard at the concert last week." A lady beneath a parasol inquired to her companion. "What was his name?"

The gentleman gazed up. "Why yes it is. Monsieur Erik I believe is what I heard Mister Damrosch address him. Is that right, good sir?"

Without even pausing so much as a half beat as I continued to play, I nodded down. "How very perceptive, I am astonished you recalled something as trivial as a simple name."

The couple paused below the tree, the gentleman chuckled politely. "Your performances are truly remarkable, how could one not retain the name of such a commanding presence?"

My bow moved as I simply felt the music Vivaldi composed in days gone by, not a single thought was required to produce the golden notes. By his expression, the man's eyes looked up at me and saw not the mask, but the man behind it. The public mob that I had dreaded would come to assault me, to see the monstrous sight the mask hid, never came. Instead, concert after concert I found the public embracing the talents I laid bare for them upon the stage. Patrons were eager to converse with me and inquire about how I came to such skill. Only rarely did the question of the mask surface. Deep inside me, my gut still turned each time, despite the graceful replies I had practiced to extract myself from answering. "The music is the important part, ever-more-so than the instrument it comes from. If I leave you departing from the hall moved to your core by the notes I have played to the heights of euphoria or the depths of utter despair, then I shall have fulfilled my role as a simple musician."

"Simple?" He flicked a hand up at me as he studied the intricate pattern of the bow across the strings. "Simple musician is hardly the term I would employ to describe you."

"I require no recognition." A small bird released her song to the wind before alighting into the air beside me. "Does the songbird require a grand gala audience to sing?" I shrugged, still unrelenting in lending voice to my Stradivarius. "The music is of itself a reward. Lavish praise has an odd effect on an artist. Tends to stagnate the performance, strangle the growth from achieving its true height."

"Is that why you're up in a tree, Erik dear?" Dappled in the light shining through the tree's leaves, Christine was a sight to behold. Attired in a light spring dress of the softest green she was simply angelic, an amused smile spread across her face. "I follow a kite string to find Charles, for you I have but to follow a musical strain."

Reaching the end of the piece, I drew the bow from the strings and laughed quietly. "Only fitting to perform Vivaldi's tribute to Spring in a tree. I should suggest just such a thing to Damrosch for this next season."

Christine positively chortled. "An entire orchestra up in a tree? Erik, I do believe that would take a lot of coaxing to get the cellists into the branches." Beside her the couple exchanged perplexed glances at the unusual idea before silently moving on their way.

Sliding down to the ground, I shrugged, my hands weaving images for her on the gentle breeze. "Not a real tree like this one. Do not be ridiculous. Just imagine a forest upon the stage that changes with the seasons, reflective of each subtle shift. The rain might be a little troublesome, but I am sure with enough thought … "

A hand rested on my shoulder, I turned to find Christine smiling fondly up at me. "Will you ever crest the mountain of your creativity?"

"No." I replied honestly. "There is always one more idea, one more project, one more height to strive for. Evermore something I must achieve."

She sighed, running a gentle hand through her wayward hair. "Never resting even when you should be."

"Rest? What is that?" She caught the subtle shift in my tone that hinted at humor. "My dear, you worry too much. This is nothing new. I have always been driven by a great desire to create and tinker with things. Inactivity is something altogether foreign." I moved towards Faust lifting my hand in a gesture that caused Christine to pause. She had admired my horse from the moment I had introduced her to him. It took no words for her to express to me that she believed Faust would not carry her. I had yet to openly ask her to trust my word on this. Placing my hands about her waist, I smiled. "I want to show you something, Faust will carry us there faster." Her eyes cast a little doubt as I lifted her up onto his bare back before I hefted myself up behind her. My arms rested on either side of her. I could feel her tension slowly relaxing as I guided the large horse through the park at a leisurely pace. Beneath us Faust's powerful muscles flexed sending a cascade of shimmering light across his deep black coat. I could feel his every breath, sense his every motion. Before me, as Christine leaned back against my chest cradled in my embrace I felt her easing into the calm cadence of the horse's leisurely stride.

Aided by the height of my Arabian, she reached up and picked a small bloom from a tree. She studied it as she remarked, "I know, you're restless even at night. I may begin slipping something into your evening drink so I might get some sleep."

Raising my eyebrows, I leaned forward to afford her a glimpse of my fond glare. "Have you not learned how unwise that is from Nadir's experience."

"Speaking of him." She looked sidelong up to me. "Don't you think you have withheld his whiskey long enough? It has nearly been a year, Erik."

With a short laugh, I shook my head. "If the man is not resourceful enough to have solved his problem in all this time, he does not truly need it." Releasing the rein I only secured lightly, I held up a staying hand. "Now my dear, he forced me to break my vice and I have held true to that since. I swear I shall continue to, for I **never** in all my days desire to endure that hell again. Nadir will be fine without the whiskey, it is doing the man some good."

"Good?" She protested playfully. "He's moping."

"That would be Nadir for you." I shrugged.

"Erik, have a little pity for him. After all, he did a masterful job resetting your arm."

I withheld my answer, instead nudging Faust into a faster stride around the trail by the pond.

Reaching the northern bank of the pond some distance from the main activity, I drew Faust to a halt and helped Christine down from his strong back. "That is indeed true. There was no need to re-break the bone for it to have healed straight, which I am grateful for. What would you have me do?"

"Get him some more of his favorite whiskey." She winked.

A slow smile crept onto my face. "If he desires it that much he should request it himself. What did he give you to ask that?"

"Nothing." Suddenly she glanced away from me, like a child caught in the act. At the last moment I detected the grin on her face right before she began to laugh. "He just begged me almost on bended knee to get you to relent."

Reaching over, I took her hands in mine. "I have far better things to do than indulge that old goat. Besides, over the years, living up to his promises became quite burdensome. It seems only right that a little inconvenience come his way."

She shook her head. "Living up to his promises made you a better man. While I found it amusing he begged me to request it of you, I do think it would be a nice gesture from you." When I failed to reply immediately she narrowed her eyes. "Erik."

"What?" My hands rubbed together impatiently. I cast her a nervous glance before snapping. "I will not make such a promise now."

Her right hand came up and traced the line of my chin. "But you will consider it."

I sighed. "You are indulging an old man's vice. One that he could obtain on his own with sufficient effort if he were simply wise enough to follow the paper trail in the ledger he once stole from me."

"I just want to see him happy, like you have been lately." Our eyes gazed back out across the water. "I've never seen you so contented. Honestly, there was a time I thought that impo … ssible." Her voice trailed off as she lifted her left hand, staring in wonder at the glimmer issuing from the ring that had appeared there.

Nervously, I glanced to the side. Did she know what it meant? The ring was a custom setting I had painstakingly worked myself while she slept. The hardest part had been measuring her ring finger without her knowing what I had been up to. The diamond was not the largest, smaller than the gaudy bauble she had previously worn. The difference lay in the quality of the gem and the deep garnets that surrounded the setting. The purity of the gems were the highest I had in my personal collection. This ring had been the better part of the nights when I should have been sleeping during the winter months. In her silent gape-jawed expression, as the light of the sun shown off the jewels, I could not read her answer.

Tentatively I remarked. "You do not have to say yes … "

"Erik … " She was breathless, her eyes still staring in disbelief at the ring I had employed my prestidigitation to deliver. "You have to ask the question before it can be answered."

It dawned on me, that was generally how these things were done. Right? "Christine Daae … " For a year she had remained by choice at my side, my heart thrummed in my chest uncertain even still of her answer. Living in my house was one thing … "will you honor me by becoming my wife?"

Hardly had the words been spoken before I found her draped around me, her tears falling on my neck. "Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to ask me, my Angel?" I was about to reply when she lifted her head and locked my lips in a kiss. Sinking into it, I held her tightly, never wanting to let go of this feeling of completeness. So warm, so welcoming, so sweet. As she withdrew to once more gaze up at me, her eyes shimmered with tears of joy.

I let my fingers tangle in her hair. "Christine, I just wanted to give you enough time. I wanted you to be certain this is what you really wanted."

"Erik." She laid her head on my chest. "Since the day I first heard your voice this is all I ever wanted.

"Then." I closed my eyes and held her tightly, knowing for a fact that this time no poison of my power had colored her response. Nothing I had done had tainted her inner desire. This was truly her choice. "I shall be yours."

* * *

 _ **THE END** \- to be continued in "Gilded Cage for a Nightingale", the THIRD of FIVE already written Nightingale Odyssey novels. "Shadowcrest's Hammer", the first in the series, is also available on this site._

 _This novel required extensive research into the Victorian era and incorporated a lot of the true history of Manhattan and what **will** be known as Carnegie Hall (renamed the second year of operation from the Music Hall as the first name identified it more with vaudeville which hurt the reputation.) Facts about the hall were researched and verified with the Carnegie Hall Museum through email-this included the unusual reason for there only being one wing originally-the pipe organ location, the speeches and locations of the historic figures. Andrew Carnegie, Walter Damrosch, Tuthill, Louis Carnegie, Tchaikovsky, are all historic figures-they are used fictionally with as much effort as possible to adhere to their real personalities. This is a blend of fact and fiction. I accessed old street maps and followed name changes in an effort to only reference landmarks and streets as they would be known at this time. For the nights of grand opening I hunted down the reviews in the newspapers (where the speeches came from) and even accessed the weather reports for those days. All music was checked to be certain it was published and available in 1891. Even the block where Erik's mansion was built was technically vacant in 1891-leaving it open to my fic-story. I hope that enjoyed reading this and will follow me through the entire series to its completion-three more novels to go._


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